Instead of new years resolutions, for many years now I have given each year an overarching life theme to promote personal growth.

Resolutions focus on largely on external change, loosing weight, quitting smoking, eating healthy.  For me a theme takes the focus off the external and focuses on the internal.   Under each theme I have goals, objectives and desires but often times I find that the action organically materializes as a natural consequence of the inner shift, as I set my intent for another year well lived.

In 2010 the theme was "My Life From Scratch" and as soon as it was set, I sold my business, home, car and television and started again.  I traveled 30,000 miles, launched Food Gypsy, reunited with those I loved and pursued my wildest dreams.  I went to culinary school, moved to Ottawa and started over a new city; I created a whole new life, from scratch.

The theme for 2011 was "Bigger & Better".  I thought this meant more cuisine knowledge but quickly found that path was not for me.  Another of life's little twists came when the phone rang and a former (flirty) cuisine instructor asked me out ( here I thought he moved my scorching pans out of a love for butter).  My love life got bigger (and better), I moved to a bigger, better apartment with a bigger, better kitchen.  My career got bigger (as my skills got better) and when my found myself suddenly ill, I got better... while my pants got bigger. (One must be careful how one words these things.)

2011 was a year of challenges and overcoming challenge makes us bigger and better.

This holiday season as the snow fell outside, Chef B (former cuisine instructor, mover of scorching butter, love of my life, companion in the kitchen) produced a small box from under the tree.  He then proceeded to stammer though a disjointed speech that started with "Look, you're a good woman..."

There was some confusion as to what exactly was being asked "I was wondering if you would like to commit to this relationship for a very long time... with a ceremony in between" and what exactly the answer was, I was too distracted by the sparkly ring to reply.  One thing's for sure, life with us is never dull.

So.  Looks like I'm planning a wedding AND a move.  Thus the theme for 2012: "The Great Coming Together" --- an homage to that 'ceremony in between' and the gooey stuff that unites us all.   As usual, I think I have an idea where this will take me, but I've learned it will surprise in new and wonderful ways.  It always does.

The theme for the year was easy, the theme for the wedding is proving much trickier.  Themes that have (so far) been shot down in flames include:

My Big Fat, Gypsy Wedding.  "Think of the DRAMA!" Gypsy. "I'd rather not." Chef B.
The Star Wars Wedding.  "Use the force."  Gypsy.   "Over my dead body." Chef B.
The Nude Wedding, on a beach. "Double the flower budget..." Gypsy. "One word: SAND." Chef B.
The Star Trek Wedding. "Going where no man has gone before." Gypsy "OH MY GOD..." Chef B.
The Hillbilly Wedding, complete with John Deer tractor. "I loves me a tractor." Gypsy "Actually, I kind of dig that." Chef B.  What?  That was a joke...

Back to the drawing board on the wedding thing.  Let's think about the move first, we need a place with two kitchens.

Sharing my life with him is one thing but if he thinks I'm sharing a kitchen, he's got another thing coming.

He got something shiny too...

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.

Dear Santa;

Thanks for the Easy Bake Oven in 1972, it was swell.

The dog was the lucky recipient of my baking ‘experiments’ for years.  Some things change and some things stay the same.  The dogs are still occasional recipients of kitchen disasters, which are fewer now but in many ways far more spectacular.

To think, it all started with that Easy Bake Oven and a box of Betty Crocker cake mix.

Which brings us to this year Santa Dear, while you may have heard me pining for a  Komodo Kamato Cooker (Easy Bake Oven on steroids), I’m writing to let you off the hook this year because I gave myself the gift of letting go.

For years I’ve been the peace maker, the catalyst, the coach and the healer.  I've repaired broken relationships, mended fences and stayed in contact.  I’ve reached out and reached in, forgiven and made amends so that everyone would be happy.

This year I’m taking a different tact, issues that need addressing, I've addressed as much as others would allow.  People I love who have chosen, for their own reasons, to leave my life are free to do so.  I honour their decision.  I trust that they know what's best for them at this moment.

We’re all just doing the best we can with where we’re at.  

Instead of picking up the pieces for those who have not asked for my help, I remember that we are all capable of fostering our own healing and I give those that need it, the time and space to do so.

I’m sure you understand this sentiment Santa, some accept the gifts you give with enthusiasm and others can’t see what you offer because they’re so mired in personal turmoil and pain.

When they’re ready, some will find their way back, while others may choose to hold on to that pain for a long time to come.  I know all too well how pain can become your companion, your friend, your identity; because there was a time when it was mine.

I have come to learn that those who choose joy --- will find it.

So you can skip my name on your list this year Mr. Claus, I already have everything I need.

There’s still cookies though,

~ Gypsy

PS:  Do you sell reindeer meat?  What, like I'm the first to ask...?!

As technology reaches deeper into our lives and processed everything threatens to consume us, we seek comfort in the simplicity of what once was.  The return of slow food, our appetite for organics, farm to fork concepts, and the rising of Food Network personalities that epitomize our ideal food culture to iconic rock-star status .

Food is our connection to one another, to family and home, to birthdays, weddings and family picnics; the intertwining of our lives as told at the family table.

Ross & Gertrude Cameron, 1926

Gertrude Cameron (nee Flannigan) was born in Pilot Mound, Manitoba on July 12, 1906. Ross Cameron was born in Maple Creek, Saskatchewan on Dec 29, 1900.  They were married on Dec 15, 1926 and moved to the family farm in Cutknife, Saskatchewan (Home of the World’s Largest Tomahawk) where they raised seven children: Betty, Glenn, Fern, Arnold, Ellen, Sharon and Diane.

Gertrude (Gertie/Gert) learned to cook as most of us do, from her mother and the women in her community; neighbors, family and friends. Over a wood stove pioneer women made everything from bread to beans, three meals a day, long before the advent of frozen pizza. Theirs was a friendly competition to see who could out-do whom at local fairs and church suppers.

Working on the farm burns calories, this is why breakfast on the prairies starts with toast and ends with pie.  No prairie woman worth her lard would send men into the field on less. 

Lunch was called “dinner” and featured whole hams, entire loaves of bread, vegetables straight from the garden and... pie.  At the end of the day, after the dirt of the land was scraped from under finger nails and washed from behind necks, there was supper.  A larger version of “dinner”, finished with cake or pudding or (dare I say it) more pie.

How Gertie Cameron managed in her busy day (hand scrubbing laundry, chasing children, chopping wood, tending her garden and plucking chickens) to make individual desserts for each of the seven children around the table I have no idea.  I can barely manage a scratch together a batch of cookies between IMing, there’s Gertrude making little cakes and puddings and the most precious of all things; homemade ice cream with ice chipped from the family ice-house.

This was a tradition she maintained for much of the family’s time together as they moved from Cutknife, Saskatchewan (Home of the World’s Largest  Tomahawk) to Dawson Creek, British Columbia in 1947, where husband Ross went to work at the town hall.

Is it any wonder that the Cameron Family’s most treasured possession is Gertrude Cameron’s family recipe book, lovingly referred to as “The Gospel of Gert”.

Great Grandson, Kris Johnson, trotted me down the hall at “Nana & Poppa’s” after a breakfast of waffles and eggs and toast and bacon and sausages and fruit (and constant threats of more) to the table where The Gospel of Gert is kept. 

As an only child I freely adopt, thus extending my tribe over many lands, Kris is among my tribe.  He came to me a wide-eyed broadcast student in the 90’s, I believe may have corrupted him on many levels.  After years stories of the infamous Nana & Poppa, I was treated like family in their home and permitted to thumb the cherished pages of their family Gospel.

Son Arnold & daughter-in-law Bernice Cameron (AKA: Ace & Bunny) in the kitchen at Christmas

 Gertrude’s recipe collection, clipped from magazines and newspapers or transcribed from the radio show “Kathy’s Kitchen", are held between the pages of an accounting ledger from the Village of Dawson Creek.  Yellowed and watermarked from years use, stuck to the lined paper with bits of glue and cellophane tape, they document family history.  

An intimate tale told over the stove, in the cool hours of the morning when the ladies did their canning and made pancakes.

Times of struggle, tales of resolution and sagas of celebration, togetherness, tenderness and individual desserts.  So sayeth The Gospel of Gert.

1960, Grimshaw Alberta, Ace & Bunny with their girls Kim & Jill

Passed from Gertrude’s kitchen to the fourth eldest; Arnold Cameron and his wife Bernice (AKA: “Ace & Bunny” or “Poppa & Nana”) after Gertrude’s passing in 1982; this humble collection of family pride is the link to the heart of the home, the many meals shared therein and a passion for good food passed through four generations.

Recipes still in use in Ace & Bunny’s kitchen (Home of The Endless Waffle) include Gertie’s salad dressing (eggs, sugar & vinegar- a family favorite), mustard pickles, hand-churned ice cream as well as the unwritten secret of “how to freeze beans without them goin’ all rubbery”.

As we traipsed through the family property, in Coldstream BC, with its half acre garden and chicken coop, Kris and I reminisced over our similar upbringing.  Families of hardworking people with a respect for the land and what it provides, and the grounded nature that this has lent us in life.

Great Grandson, Kris Johnson, raiding the family garden

“We’re not really a religious family,” Kris observes, between mouthfuls of raspberries from the garden “so Great Grandma’s recipe book is kind of like the family bible.  It’s the thing that binds us, the religion of food.”

Walking back into the cool house on a that hot summer day, we pass a sink full of cucumbers ready for pickling and find Ace, returned from his chores, in rubber boots and shorts.

“It’s too hot for pants” he claims.
“He’s always in those dam boots,” says Bunny, smiling and shaking her head “sometimes he wears them into town!”

Ace takes his boots off and relaxes in his wool socks, legs tanned from just above the knee to mid calf, his eyes filled with mischief.  Must be the epiphany of a lifetime of "homemade" that makes for a family of such beautiful souls.

Long live The Gospel of Gert.

 *Archive photos compliments of the Cameron Family, with much thanks.*

As a (pinot noir soaked)  aside:  Besides his work as a hand-model here on Food Gypsy, Kris Johnson's passion for good grape can be explored on his blog: World of Winecraft at www.wowinecraft.com. (Make wine, not war! )

Ace & Bunny, still lovers after all these years.

“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

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.

Spent much of my week  horizontal, in the care of the medical professionals at the Ottawa Hospital, Civic Campus.  Turns out my self-diagnosis; first of stomach flu, with resulting pulled muscle, then revised to gallbladder attack (via Internet/Grey's Anatomy) though excellent, was not accurate.  Hello burst appendix.  

Should you or a loved one ever experience a "stomach flu" (vomiting, nausea, fever) with pain that starts in the center then moves and intensifies on the lower right of the abdomen, get thee post haste to a physician, you may have appendicitis.  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT wait a week. --- this has been a public service announcement. 

The resulting infection could have killed a mere mortal.  Of course, for a Jedi like myself it is simply a matter of realigning with wellness - body, mind & soul.   It will take a while but robust individual that I am, having taken extraordinary care of my health for many years, I bounce better than many. 

My medical care was truly excellent, the nursing staff was kind and attentive.  Where the medical system failed however was in providing one of the basic components of life:  FOOD.

The tray that sent me sputtering, spitting and looking for my soap box.

First there was the tiny matter of attempting to kill me with aspartame.  

When a person is battling infection, why would one tax the liver further by making it filter a chemical sweetener?  The liver is a superstar organ; metabolizing fat, aiding in detoxification, and production of biochemicals necessary for digestion.  Add that to glycogen storage, decomposition of red blood cells, plasma protein synthesis, hormone and bile production; quite frankly; my liver is busy enough already.  

Next they fed me a gelatin dessert.  Now, I have nothing against a good gelatin dessert but again, how many chemicals is one overtaxed system supposed to handle?  I'm in the hospital already.  "Are you trying to keep me here?  Who do you work for?!  WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!"  (It's a conspiracy, they were trying to get me hooked on chemicals.) 

All this after I made it a point to tell staff that I react to "food additives & preservatives", I even had a red bracelet that informed staff of same.  On my tray, again and again processed, chemically coloured, artificially favored items appeared.  How can I digest this plastic you call margarine and why is there no 'natural' option?   How is one to heal fed by adipic acid, artificial flavor, disodium phosphate sodium citrate, fumaric acid, and the colorant red 40?    

On admission I was asked what religion I practice ("Jedi") but never once did someone talk to me about food.  Why? 

In this flesh cocoon, that we call the human body we require three things for life  & vitality on this planet - air, food and water.  By not attending to my needs nutritionally, in my mind the system failed to deliver one of the basic human needs.  Simple.  

Now, before medical professionals and dietary hospital workers get all up in arms saying that large hospitals cannot possibly customize each plate to each patient - I would like to point out that I never once received someone else's medication, IV drip or diagnosis.   

There is chasm of difference between can't and won't.  All I want is healthy, natural food.   

That being said... where the dietitians, prep cooks & delivery personal did go right was in the last tray of hospital food set before me.  Breakfast consisted of coffee (watery, but still coffee), grape juice (chemicals, no thanks) 2% milk, cooked oatmeal (can't go wrong with oatmeal), dry brown toast and a boiled egg (perfectly cooked).  (Condiment options included margarine, artificial sweetener, pepper and diet jam.  Diet jam?!)   

This tray was the key to my being released to recuperate at home until surgery in several weeks time as opposed to further 'incarceration'.  The conditions were:  a fever-free night, clean blood work and keeping down solid (hospital) food.  

A food challenge.  I simply smiled... "Obviously you do not know who you're dealing with.  Bring it."  

Home.  At last.  There is no aspartame here.  I am safe.  I see a cause in my future.

GYPSY NOTE:  In light of current health, the blog may be a bit spotty from time to time, we thank you for your patience.  The good news is, I'm on a holistic health mission so dishes delivered promise to be tasty and good for you!  More soon, but first we nap.  

Your challenge should you choose to accept it.

Another year, come and gone.   Since entering a decade that starts with 'four' birthday celebrations are quiet affairs with those I love, often banning the word "birthday" all together.  A great meal is all I want.  This year, for added fun, was leveled by a stomach flu for two days following.  

To which I say: "BLAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" 

Thus proving that I am an adult. 

Sure I'll be up to my old tricks, the blog (and solid food) again shortly; in the meantime a snapshot of the magnificent meal from the Chef/man in my life on this the occasion of my 10th anniversary of my 37th Birthday.  Lucky Me.

Ideas for your next 'non-celebration' perhaps.

Menu: 

Seared Lamb Chops with Tomato, Olive, Prosciutto, Basil and Shallot Salad tossed in a Red Wine-Dijon Vinaigrette

Sweet Chartreuse Souffle with Vanilla Bean Ice Cream and a Chartreuse Shooter

Pink Champagne // Red Wine

I love simple food --- grilled meats and fresh, acidic salads are my go-to mains in the summer.  Chef B's Red Wine-Dijon Vinaigrette has become my new favorite. 

Recipe to follow. 

Hot souffles, chilled chartreuse, cold ice cream...

Remind me never to dilly-dally when there are souffles involved, it gets one the following warning;

"CoCo (he calls me Coco), if you're not going to eat it now it will be ruined and next time I won't go to all the trouble of making a souffle, I'll just buy them frozen!" 

(yikes)  "Yes Chef!" 

Obediently consumes souffle, my first sweet souffle actually.  He had planned to make this for me the first time he  made me dinner.  We never made it to dessert.  Can't think why. 

Wishing you a wonderful weekend. Wishing me a smooth transition from baby food (how very Lady Gaga of me) to solids.  The joy!

An unassuming little vintage and affordable too.

Moving.  An extraordinary way to come to terms with just how much stuff you have, by picking it all up and trotting it down the hall, into an elevator, out the parking garage, into a truck, down the highway, across a bridge and up a flight of stairs. 

It's heavier than you think and more than you will ever need.

My legs benefit, shorts weather is fast approaching.  This following a week of painting.  Brilliant new shape up routine. 

Now I face the kitchen, which is cobbling together quicker than I'd imagined.  Bright sunny yellow and a couple of red cocottes.  I shall be cooking, writing and shooting in no time. 

Joyously, the new digs include a large patch of dirt to play in and much to my delight signs that someone before me loved this same soil; green things are shooting above ground to be tended, admired and eaten --- including a veritable hedge of rhubarb.  

Big green leaves and red stems, now shooting up flowers, which we shall top, and a few sunny days from now, arm-fulls of rhubarb will be trotted upstairs into one receptacle or another. 

I see much delicious baking in my near future... plus the possibility of a few compotes, jams and chutneys. 

Let the pie begin.

I'm gonna' eat this!

Don't eat this. 

In the midst of moving... and for some odd reason I appear to be both cleaning and painting my new apartment.  Still not sure why... one of the great mysteries of life.   Little time to write and even less to cook.  

Who wants cereal? 

But, cleaning is a part of cooking, and removing grease and grime is part of life so when I find a product that makes the workload lighter, I'm sharing it with my people.  

You know that tough kitchen grime, the kind that is a combination of grease, dog hair, dead bugs and dust bunnies that collects on the top of the kitchen cupboards?  

Ever try to scrub that stuff with your regular kitchen cleaner?  You'll be there a while, it just smears it around a little --- not so with Spray Nine.  Spray the product on, leave it a couple of minutes and just whipe it way with hot water.  

Voila. Done.  

Nasty extraction fan?  No worries, positively melts the goo off.  Tire marks from bikes?  Piece of cake.  Grease from bike chain on the walls?  Oh sure.  (Yup... I get all the FUN jobs.) 

Biodegradable, no idea how that's possible but --- dam!  I love this stuff. 

Yeah Spray Nine, Mutli Purpose Cleaner.

I am not being paid to endorse this product.  (Though I'm open to that...) 

What a SUPER CLEAN Gypsy Kitchen it will be when I'm done. 

I know what you're thinking... "when was the last time I cleaned the top of the cabinets?" Ummm... yea.