First grown by the Peruvian Incas, potatoes were transported to the Old World in 1570 by the Spanish Conquistadores as part of the cultural appropriation that accompanied invasion. But the new vegetables were reviled by Europeans fearful of their nightshade family tree, with cousins including eggplant and tomatoes, but also deadly mandrake and belladonna, and so were grown initially as animal fodder.

It took advocates like Antoine-August Parmentier to make spuds acceptable. Parmentier was a socially conscious chef and medical officer who also enforced smallpox vaccination among Napoleon’s troops. He became a staunch advocate for potatoes after he survived on them in a Prussian prison camp during the Seven Years War (1756-63). He later planted potatoes on his estates near Paris; to create potato prestige, he posted guards during the day, but removed the guards nightly so Parisians could “steal” the plants to grow in their own gardens. His influence endures in French dishes bearing his name as indicators that they contain potatoes. In an ironic moment of food history, in the aftermath of the French Revolution, the royal gardens, the Tuileries, were converted to potato fields.

Potatoes migrated to North America in the 1770s. American inventor Ben Franklin attended a “potato feast” cooked by Parmentier for the French king, Louis XIV, who wore a potato flower boutonniere. Franklin subsequently carried seed potatoes home. His colleague, Thomas Jefferson, served as American Minister to France, and one of his slaves, James Hemings, studied to be a chef while they were in Paris. Later, at the White House, Hemings served finely cut potato pieces cooked in hot oil and — voila! — french fries.

It’s amazing that the potato is even eaten in Ireland after the Potato Famine of 1845-51. At that point, Irish Catholics could not own or lease land, so were reduced to tenant farmers and poverty, eating one variety of potato, the Lumper; the Corn Laws made wheat unaffordable, and dairy, fish and cattle were exported en masse to England. But an ecological disaster made a bad situation worse. A plant pathogen, Phytophthora infestans, wiped out the Lumper crop, turning tasty taters into rotting slime. A million Irish died of starvation and a million more fled, mostly for the New World. Thus my potato-loving paternal ancestors became settlers in what would be known as Treaty 3 Territory, the Between the Lakes Territory, Upper Canada, or southern Ontario.

In what became known as Alberta, Daniel Harman, agent for the North West Company, mentioned in his journals the harvest of the first potatoes seeded in 1810 near Dunvegan. Forty-three years later, the potato chip was invented in Saratoga Springs, New York. A chef, George Crum, irked when railroad magnate Cornelius Vanderbilt sent back his potatoes for more cooking, thinly sliced the offending potatoes, fried them in oil, and sprinkled the resulting chips with salt. Vanderbilt loved them, triggering our continuing affair with potato chips.

But potatoes have better uses than chips. As my feisty Irish granny was fond of saying, spuds are best served plain, with a few added ingredients — hence latkes, boxty, pommes Anna, or champ. So first we eat, then we’ll swap recipes.

Hedgehog Potatoes

This is one of those deceptive dishes that elevate its few ingredients. It’s also good for practising your knife skills. Choose uniform oval potatoes — yellow fleshed are best — of similar size. Make extra! These reheat well, uncovered, in a medium-hot oven. Serves 6.

• 6 potatoes
• 2 heads of garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
• Olive oil
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Chopped chives for garnish
• Sour cream for garnish

Set the oven at 350 F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Cut off a thin slice of each potato to make a flat surface. Set the potato on its flat side and use a large sharp knife to make parallel cuts across the potato at regular intervals. Do not cut all the way through. Insert a garlic slice into each cut. Repeat with the rest of the potatoes. Transfer the potatoes to the baking sheet. Drizzle with oil, then season with salt and pepper. Bake for an hour, more if needed, basting at intervals. Serve with garnishes.

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The sun is almost up, a cascade of violet and rose in the eastern sky, enough light for me to feel Jake and I will be safe despite the coyotes that live nearby. As I toss Jake’s tennis ball down the lane a few minutes later, I start thinking about his breakfast. I’ve been thinking about dog diets a lot for the past six months, ever since he went on a diet. Jake is what’s called “an easy keeper.” When Dave asked me to explain the term, I ended up telling him the story of my first pony, a fat Appaloosa gelding who got fatter just by looking at the grass growing on the far side of the fence. So an “easy keeper” requires fewer calories than the norm. Tough luck, Jake! Jake too has been neutered, and that slows his metabolism somewhat, our vet explained six months ago when we first discussed his solid shape. What we needed to do was reduce his calories.

Since then, Jakie has dropped 25 pounds, and I am learning about caloric density in foods. His fave snacks are now carrot bits and blueberries, bell peppers and snap peas. Same as mine — except that I get chocolate on demand as well. Fortunately, he loves them all — or else his appetite makes them all equally appealing — and we always have plenty of fruits and vegetables on hand, including, especially in winter, the crucifers — broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts and all the cabbagey cousins. For some reason I had always thought that the crucifers were on the forbidden list for dogs (that list also includes grapes, onions and chocolate). But no, says my vet/animal nutritionist, although large amounts of cabbage can produce gas in dogs. So when I roast some winter veggies, including cauliflower and peppers — Jake gets some too, although his will not be dressed in olive oil. Extra calories, right?

I plan to cook all Jake’s meals eventually and eliminate our reliance on processed dog food. A dog’s diet can be pretty simple, and I’d rather not feed our retriever the pulses included in some brands that studies have linked to heart disease in some breeds, including retrievers. So it will be grains — millet, brown rice, quinoa, oatmeal, and whole grain breads and pasta — lean roasted chicken or fish, yogurt, bits of cheese, and fruits and vegetables. That’s a tidy overlap with how Dave and I mostly eat and Jake will also get a vitamin and mineral supplement.

The production of commercial dog food (“kibble”) in North America began about 100 years ago. Before that, dogs ate much as their human companions did. It didn’t take long before pet food companies began to make noises about the unwholesomeness of table scraps as dog food. It was a marketing ploy. My vet/animal nutritionist assures me that Jake will thrive on home-cooked meals, just like we do. In fact, the biggest challenge will be to not overfeed him, as home-cooked food is more calorie dense than most kibble and canned dog foods. So Jake will have to get used to eating less. Except, of course, for the vegetables and fruit I feed him for added vitamins, variety, fibre, bulk and — yes, admit it, good taste. All the same reasons we humans love our vegetables! So first we eat — but before we eat, we feed our animals. Then we can talk more about what to feed Jake and his canine cousins.

Roasted Winter Vegetables

I particularly like these vegetables as a contrast to tender stews or braises. If you are feeding your dog and counting calories on Fido’s behalf, you may wish to roast a separate pan of vegetables without oil or onions/garlic for your mutt. Cut everything into similar sizes to ensure even cooking.

• 3 carrots, peeled and sliced
• 1/2 onion, sliced
• 1 head garlic, peeled, cloves left whole
• 1/4 head cauliflower, cut into florets
• 12 brussels sprouts, halved
• 1 bell pepper, diced
• Yellow or white turnip, peeled and diced (optional)
• Olive oil to taste
• Salt and pepper to taste

Toss all the ingredients in a large bowl, then spread evenly on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Roast uncovered at 375 F for 30-40 minutes or until tender, stirring several times.

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At the time I’d been fretting about my mom, a recent widow, wondering how she — sick of cooking after decades of feeding kids and husband — would respond to her new culinary regimen. To my surprise, Mom has grabbed the bit and run free, cooking and eating exactly what she likes whenever she feels like it, abandoning a lifetime of structured meals and regimented mealtimes. I’d been afraid she would abandon the kitchen and dwindle, but her appetite resurfaced, robust and eager to relish her favourite foods. It was the perfect metaphor for her approach to her new life.

So my worries on her account were needless, and I was able to turn my hand to cooking for our elderly friends. I was glad that they would be at home again, but I had a different set of worries about them: Would they be safe? Would they be comfortable and competent feeding themselves? And what about after my help ended? How would they get their groceries? What support services had they arranged?

They assured me they had suitable support in place for their return. As for food, their preferences fairly closely matched how I cook for Dave and me — a modified Mediterranean diet, with lots of vegetables and olive oil, and fish on a regular basis. So it would be a fairly simple task to feed them. The biggest challenge was choosing dishes that would keep gracefully in the fridge for a couple of days, then reheat well.

So I gave them a succession of salads, sourdough breads, braised dishes my foodie friend Gail has always called “stewy bits,” and for variety, some lovely Saskatchewan fish — pickerel braised with tomatoes, capers and olives; roasted steelhead smeared with local mustard and Canadian maple syrup. One day I decided to make cornbread, a wonderful breakfast dish and midday snack with honey and butter. To honour the cook’s rule of doubling down on labour, I reserved some to use for stuffing some farm-raised chicken breasts.

My mom had made cornbread as an after-school snack for me and my siblings when we were small, so I made extra into muffins and delivered them to her, wondering if she would remember and recognize the flavours. Well, of course she did, and launched into a reminiscence of life on Vancouver Island and her garden there. Amazing how food triggers such strong memories. As for my elderly friends, they loved the cornbread, and the stuffed chicken as well, especially after I told them the story of school snacks. So first we eat, and then we can talk about your favourite after-school snack as a kid.

Cornbread-Stuffed Chicken

• 1-1/2 c. cornbread
• 1 egg
• 4 green onions, minced
• 4 chicken breasts or thighs, boneless, skin on
• Olive oil to drizzle
• Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 375 F. Crumble the cornbread. Whisk the egg and add to the cornbread with the green onions. Loosen the chicken skin to form a pocket. Tuck stuffing under the chicken skin and drizzle with oil, then season to taste. Roast the chicken pieces, turning once or twice, until juices run clear, about 40 minutes for breasts, longer for thighs, depending on size. Remove from heat. Let stand 5 minutes, then slice across the grain and serve. Serves 4.

Skillet Cornbread

Pull out your favourite black cast iron pan for this bread. Save leftovers to use as stuffing for chicken. Serves 6 to 8.

• 1-1/2 c. cornmeal
• 2-1/2 c. all-purpose flour
• 3/4 c. sugar
• Salt to taste
• 3 tbsp. baking powder
• 1 tsp. ground allspice
• 1/4 tsp. hot chili flakes
• 2 eggs
• 1 c. corn kernels
• 2 c. milk or buttermilk
• 1/2 c. melted butter or vegetable oil

Set the oven to 375 F. Lightly butter and flour a 9-inch cake pan or cast iron pan, or line a muffin pan with papers. Combine the dry ingredients in a bowl. Combine the rest of the ingredients in a separate bowl, then add to the dry ingredients. Mix just to blend, then gently pour into the prepared pan or muffin cups. Smooth the top and bake about 35 minutes, less for muffins, until set and golden. Serve warm with butter, honey optional.

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“Once a week a van came through the town, delivering a full case of wine, picking up the empty case, at every house,” Mom recalls. “The wine was from the Moselle district, famous for its whites. Another van came regularly too, with smoked and cured pork sausages — like salami — never fresh. Cattle were too valuable to be eaten. I remember seeing oxen in the fields, pulling plows. We got frozen chicken — flown in from Canada, probably, because England was still pretty strictly rationed back then — at the PX (the Post Exchange) on the base. But we bought our fruits and vegetables ‘on the economy’ (air force slang for the local shops), at the Friday night street market. It was lit by gaslight, and was very pretty — eggplants and peppers and spuds all in stacks, and bunches of fresh herbs.”

Dad was often away on training exercises in Sardinia, and Mom, who would have three small children by the time they returned to Canada, made friends with the locals. Their landlord made schnapps from the local yellow Mirabelle plums, and Mom would receive a small glass of schnapps each time she went downstairs to pay the rent. She recalls that local women drank it with a sugar cube between their teeth, but the men took it straight up. At the pub she would often see the publican’s son, age 12, holding a glass of wine and smoking, his big dog lounging on the floor at his feet. She remembers one evening at a birthday celebration, a group of workmen in heavy boots occupied the booth across from them in a café, a big pot of soup on their table. When Dad popped the cork from the Alsatian crémant he was opening, the cork flew and landed in their soup. Laughter ensued.

By now you are wondering — why this trail of memories? Memories are what remain of my father, who unexpectedly passed away in October. I served two kinds of soup at his wake, when my husband Dave lifted a glass of schnapps as he offered a toast to Dad’s memory. Dad’s and my joint birthday this month is my first in my life without him. So here’s a toast to fathers everywhere. First we eat, then we pop the cork. I hope the cork lands in your neighbour’s soup pot.

Carrot and Coconut Cream Soup with Anise and Ginger

For a light soup that is driven by its vegetable nature, use water or vegetable stock; chicken stock adds weight and birdlike flavour. Vary it by adding other root vegetables, and after puréeing the finished soup, garnish if desired with chopped roast pork or chicken, or add some shrimp sautéed with garlic and anise seed. Serves 4.

• 1 onion, minced
• 1 tbsp. butter
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 tbsp. grated fresh ginger
• 1/2 tsp. anise seed, cracked
• 1/2 tsp. finely grated orange zest
• 1/4 tsp. cracked fennel seed
• 1/2 tsp. sweet smoked paprika
• large carrots, peeled and sliced thinly
• 4 c. chicken or vegetable stock
• Kosher salt to taste
• 1 tbsp. fish sauce
• 1 c. coconut milk
• 2 tbsp. finely minced fresh cilantro
• 1/2 lime, juice only

Combine the onion and butter in a large heavy pot. Add the garlic, ginger, anise, orange zest, fennel and paprika. Cook over medium-high heat, adding small amounts of water as needed, until tender, about 10 minutes.

Add the carrots and stock, stir well and cook over medium heat, covered, for 30-40 minutes, stirring often, until tender. Purée. Add the salt, fish sauce, coconut milk, cilantro and lime juice. Serve hot.

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Getting ideas

Careful planning and research will make for a safe, enjoyable and rewarding trip. And remember, Google is your friend.

First, decide what are must-see places on your checklist. Sydney’s big-city experiences are easy, as you will need a few days to acclimatize and get over jet lag when first arriving.

Is it worthwhile to see Ayer’s Rock in the middle of the continent versus spending time on the Great Barrier Reef? Taking the SkyRail in the tropics of Cairns versus the Great Ocean Road drive from Adelaide? Distances are very far apart and while air travel is quite civilized you still need to give yourself ample days to rest and enjoy the country instead of trying to check off as many items on the list as possible.

It seems almost everyone has a friend who has connections to someone in that country. Quiz these people on what to see and maybe they will set you up with someone to visit when you get there.

Another great resource would be to actively communicate with Australian farmers on Twitter, and search Google for farm tours in different parts of the country. There is no better way to experience sugar cane farming, huge cotton farms, or dairies that operate without supply management.

Getting there

It’s a long way to get from the Prairies to Australia. Depending on your connections you can expect at least 17 hours of actual time in the air. Start your planning with Google Flights which gives you all the available options and filters, but once you have chosen an itinerary it will track the pricing and alert you when the price drops for a short-notice sale. It’s amazing how much it can vary over short periods of time, so be ready with your credit card.

You will need a tourist visa to enter Australia, which is available quickly and easily on the Australia Government website at https://www.eta.homeaffairs.gov.au. If you are considering going to work in Australia for a period of time, be sure to have your work visa in place, which seems to be easy to acquire if coming from a fellow Commonwealth country.

Getting around

First, remember you are driving on the other side of the road.

Since most of the time you will be following traffic, you quickly get used to the idea of how you should be driving around the traffic circle, that is actually the best traffic control device ever invented and you’ll wonder why there is ever a need for a traffic light.

Rental car companies are plentiful, most of the same brands we are accustomed to in North America. Be advised that if you don’t buy their extra insurance, you will be responsible for a deductible of up to $5,000 on your rental car and they may place a hold on your credit card of that amount until the car is returned with no damage. An alternative is coverage from a third party such as RentalCover.com. If you are depending on your travel credit card to cover your extra insurance, be sure to read the fine print. Also, be sure to ask the questions from any coverage provider if you are covered if you get a stone chip, or hit a kangaroo.

And don’t be in a hurry to book your vehicles. My trip had all the rental car companies’ rates drop in half approximately two weeks before departure. They also have reasonable fees for renting in one city and dropping off in another.

Getting connected

Keeping connected to friends, family and Facebook has never been easier than it is today. Your local mobile phone provider can sell you a roaming package to cover your time away.

But if you want to have a holiday and be disconnected from the usual distractions while saving money, consider getting a local SIM card. We all have old phones in the drawer, and as long as they are unlocked you can pop in a local SIM card and be instantly connected to phone and data.

Before leaving home forward all your phone numbers to a web-based service that sends your voice mails to you in an email. My preference is Kall8.com for many reasons, but there are others out there as well. Apple users can log in to IMessage on your travel phone and get all your text messages. The key thing is to leave your regular phone at home, turned on and plugged in, then it will never accidently connect and roam you into a huge surprise phone bill when on holidays.

Data from a reputable mobile provider with good coverage is important, since you will become very dependent on your mapping app of choice. Google Maps allows you to download trips in advance.

Getting a good night’s sleep

Unlike North America where every town seems to have a new Holiday Inn Express on the outskirts, rural Australia still has an abundance of motor hotels. Without any consistent hotel chains, you’ll have to book directly with each one or use Expedia.com, Booking.com or look at Google Maps for the next town to see what’s available.

A popular option is to combine your vehicle with your accommodation and rent a campervan, which can be a great money saver.

Getting a good meal

Skip the chains, skip the Yelp reviews. Go directly to the nearest pub, visit with some locals and have the best meal in town. No matter where you travel in the world, follow the locals. Need a quick lunch? Grab a meat pie or a spring roll from the first bakery you see on the street.

While the food prices may seem high, don’t forget the sales tax is included in the pricing, and tipping is not expected.

Also, rather than promoting parallel parking as Canada has, angle parking is the norm to maximize spaces, even including angle parking in the centre of the street.

Getting home

After making the most of your trip of a lifetime, it’s a long trip home. With the time change, date line, and jet lag, the journey home seems like a 40-hour day — because it is! With the 16-hour time change you will likely take longer to get back to normal at home than you did when arriving in Australia.

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Winter weather means that this week’s cooking must be from the pantry, with no spontaneous trips to town. But even when the pantry looks scant, we can find an onion, a carrot, a can of beans, a few spuds. Peasant food? Absolutely. Those peasants, my grandparents among them, were hardy folk — and simple dishes based on vegetables and grains with a modicum of meat kept them hale and strong.

Yes, but — you might say — there’s nothing special about squash. Nothing sublime about onions. Nothing redeeming about root veggies.

Maybe not. But it’s all in what you do with them; simplicity is the mother of inventive cooking, and sideways thinking is a sure sign of a cook accustomed to using few ingredients.

Here are a few ideas for cooks on a winter-weather shoestring:

• Sauté sliced ham or bacon in a pot, add garlic, onions and carrots generously seasoned, then add wedges of cabbage. Add white, black or pinto beans, cover with water or stock, and let the magic happen under a lid. Later, add a smoked pork hock or a sausage or two, and voila!
• When a sack of onions is the sum total of your pantry, make onion soup. Start with a vegetable stock made with onions, carrots, garlic, potatoes, herbs and water. Let it simmer while you slice a heap of onions for the soup. Sauté the onions and an entire head of garlic, and add pinches of dried Mediterranean herbs and the dregs of last night’s wine before you tip in the stock. Thickly slice a loaf of bread, drizzle each slice with olive oil, top with a spoonful of onions from the pot and maybe a bit of cheese, then broil the croutons before floating them in the soup bowls.
• If you have a squash languishing in the cupboard, dice it, sweat it with onion, garlic and olive oil, then stir in arborio rice and vegetable stock for a rewarding risotto. Alternatively, combine the diced squash with a handful of split peas, star anise or fennel seed, cumin, grated fresh ginger, sautéed onion and stock. A dollop of honey and a pinch of salt bring it all into harmony.
• Lentils in the cupboard mean quick-cooking, high-protein dishes like mulligatawny, the yummy self-thickening soup of Indian origins. The formula is simple and easily adapted to whatever produce is in your fridge: onions + garlic + ginger + oil + veggies + Indian spices + lentils + fruit + water = soup. Garnish the finished soup with yogurt and toasted coconut.
• Pasta works well with a handful of broccoli, garlic and onion, a generous drizzle of olive oil, a smattering of hot chili flakes, and the last of the Parmesan. Add cooked lentils or beans, and it becomes pasta e fagioli, an Italian peasant classic.
• Use grated raw yams, sweet potatoes or common potatoes with red, white or yellow skins and flesh for latkes.
• If the flour jar is full, make pizza. Top it with roasted slivered root vegetables (carrots are especially good; parsnips are very sweet) or roasted mushrooms or eggplant, leftover chicken or roast lamb, a bit of cheese. Slices of grilled onion add a sweet, charred note. Fold the filling within a small round of dough and pinch the edges closed for a crusty calzone.

That’s supper on a shoestring. First we eat, then we talk about goin’ to town.

Golden Vegetable Latkes

This works best with raw potatoes. Choose red skinned, yellow fleshed, purple or sweet, and add grated carrot as well. Children will drown these in syrup; adults might prefer a compote of simmered cran- berries, apple or pears with yogurt on the side. Serves 2-4.

• 1 lb. sweet potatoes, potatoes or root vegetables, peeled and coarsely grated
• 2 carrots, grated
• 1/2 onion or a handful of green onions, minced
• 1 tsp. dried basil
• A handful of chopped parsley
• Salt and hot chili flakes to taste
• 1-2 eggs
• 3-4 tbsp. cornstarch or flour

Combine ingredients. Heat a well-seasoned cast iron pan, then lightly oil the pan. Scoop the mixture into the pan, pressing each scoop flat into a patty. Cook for several minutes on medium heat until brown, then flip to cook the second side. Place the finished patties on a baking tray in a warm oven while you cook the rest.

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The restaurant’s door opens at 11 a.m. sharp, and the 30 people in front of us are quickly ushered to benches, chairs and stools. My son reassures me that it won’t be long, that the turnover is fast. I’ve been here before, even though neither my son nor I like lineups.

When I peer in through the front windows a few minutes later, bowls and plates already sit in front of several happy diners. Chopsticks and spoons are deployed. I can’t hear the sound effects, but I can imagine them, because I have made those noises myself — slurping, sighing, lip smacking, the noises deserved by good food.

When I return to our spot in the queue, we pass the time by discussing “Tampopo,” Juzo Itami’s famous “Spaghetti Eastern” movie about a noodle maker in Japan. This wildly funny 1986 movie sendup of “Spaghetti Westerns” involves a stranger who rides into town (in a truck), then sticks around to help a widow learn to make better noodles for her shop.

My appetite is stoked by the time my son’s name is called. We’ve waited outside maybe 40 minutes; this restaurant, Shiki Menya, serves ramen, pale-yellow wheat noodles and the broth-style soup that contains them. A line forms outside its door every day because the noodles and broth are not only scrumptious, but handmade. Daily. When they run out, the door closes. We sit; we consult; we order. Soon it’s us who are smacking our lips, sighing and slurping. Then we leave, so others can do the same.

At home, I dig around in my library and online, reading up on the noodles and broth, then head to the kitchen, curious to see if I can reproduce the textures and flavours that made me so happy.

The short answer: yes, and no. Intrepid home cooks can approximate ramen’s slick texture by adding baked baking soda to an egg noodle dough, but trust me, some things really are best left to the specialists. Best to make the stock and buy the noodles: ready-made ramen — not the dry packaged kind with a little packet of salty seasoning that sustains university students on a tight budget, but fresh ramen — or fat wheat udon or Shanghai noodles, or even soba (buckwheat noodles), any of which are usually available at grocery stores. In a real pinch, spaghetti will work.

Ramen’s rich broth is often made from pork bones, but miso, chicken or fish stock can be used as well. What else shows up in the bowl? Char siu (braised or barbecued pork belly). Negi (spring onion). Soft tamago (soft-boiled egg). Menma (fermented bamboo shoots). Mustard greens, pea shoots, microgreens, spinach. Aromatic sesame seeds or oil, peanuts or cashews. The whole, extraordinarily greater than the sum of its modest parts, is enough to make a grown woman go weak in the knees. So first we eat, and then we decide if we should have more.

Dee’s Eastern Noodle Soup

Chinese char siu is pork roasted with a tangy, often-sweet sauce.

The Japanese version is pork belly too, braised or roasted. Why pork belly? Fat content, which translates into lusciousness in eating. Use this braised version in your own “Spaghetti Eastern” bowls of ramen.

Braise:

• 2-lb. pork belly
• 6 c. pork stock or chicken stock
• 1 c. soy sauce
• 1 c. sake
• 1/4 c. brown sugar
• 2 onions, coarsely chopped
• 1 head garlic, peeled and bruised 1 bunch green onions, chopped 2 inches ginger, chopped
• 1 carrot, chopped

Soup broth and flavourings:

• Pork braising liquid
• Soy sauce
• Miso
  Chili paste
• Aromatic sesame oil

Garnishes:

• Sliced broiled char siu
• Negri (spring onion), minced
• Soft tamago (soft-boiled egg)
• Menma (fermented bamboo shoots)
• Mushrooms, raw or sautéed
• Mustard greens, pea shoots, microgreens, spinach
• Toasted peanuts
• Corn
• Cooked wheat noodles (ramen, udon, Shanghai) or soba (buckwheat noodles)

Set oven at 300 F. Roll pork belly into a cylinder, tie with kitchen twine and set aside. Combine all braising ingredients in a heavy pot and bring to a boil. Add the pork, then reduce to a simmer. Cover the contents snugly with a piece of parchment paper, then with a lid. Cook in oven for 3-4 hours, or until tender. Leave cooked pork in liquid overnight in fridge. Next day, remove the pork belly from the liquid and slice. Sauté or broil each slice for a yummy nice caramel-edged effect, or reheat the slices in some of the broth.

To make the soup, heat the braising liquid, then add flavourings, garnishes and cooked noodles to suit appetite and palate. Serve immediately.

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I was disinclined to believe him — this was a small Saskatchewan town, a bedroom community of Saskatoon, after all, with a population of 1,500. Surely its residents had better things to do on an autumn Sunday evening than line up for a turkey dinner. But Ken was proven right when we drove over to the community hall, and we took our places in the lineup. In the days following, I would learn that nearly 1,000 tickets were sold.

We have been attending this annual dinner with our family and neighbours ever since we moved to rural Saskatchewan in 2010. In the years when I felt cranky, I misheard it as “foul supper,” and in others, with yellow leaves filling my eaves and rain barrel, I heard “fall.” Regardless of pronunciation, fowl suppers are a Prairie harvest tradition, usually held under the auspices of churches and volunteer community groups, with women dishing up and washing up in the church kitchen the day of, and women cooking and baking in their home kitchens for days in advance.

The suppers may have begun as fundraisers, but became events unto themselves, even when times were tough: Nellie McClung mentioned fowl suppers in her 1916 book, In Times Like These, and the Grande Prairie Northern Tribune ran a notice in its October 19, 1933 issue: “Don’t forget the old-time fowl supper at the United Church on Oct. 25, 6 to 8 o’clock, concert following.” Nowadays you’re more likely to find such a reminder on Kijiji or Facebook, and modern MLAs are hopping on the bandwagon by hosting fowl suppers for constituents — albeit at considerably steeper ticket prices than the cash my family coughed up for the small-town meal we attended, which was mercifully untouched by political speechifying.

Regardless of which small town you find yourself in, the fowl supper menu is changeless and most of it is homemade: turkey, stuffing, gravy, mash, rutabaga, carrots, salad, buns, and pie. Pie, glorious pie, in all manner of flavours, including — this lucky year — homemade butter tarts. As I picked up a plate of apple pie and added a tart to my plate, I observed many others doing the same thing, usually with a grinning glance around. The presence of Ontario-born butter tarts on a Prairie groaning board is a small indicator of our mobile population: I’ve eaten them in Newfoundland, too, as a partner to figgy duff following a traditional Jigg’s dinner.

Fowl supper tables are communal, so when we sat down, I was elbow to elbow with a stranger, who promptly introduced himself before tucking into his spuds and turkey. Several tables over, I saw some good friends, our nearby neighbours, but they were deep in conversation with their tablemates, so visiting waited until we’d all eaten our pie. As I munched, I recalled the bartering power commanded by butter tarts in the bidding wars that accompanied school lunchtime in my childhood. A butter tart could get you anything, but who’d want to trade it away?

These tarts are in my battery of “best presents” that I draw from when I start making edible gifts for the holidays. Make plenty: they freeze well. So first we eat tarts with a pot of tea, and then we visit.

Lemon Maple Cranberry Butter Tarts

Here’s my adaptation of my southern Ontario grandmother’s classic. Makes 2 dozen 3-in. tarts or 4 dozen small tartlets.

Pastry

• 2 c. flour
• 3/4 c. butter
• Salt to taste
• 1/2 c. ice water, more as needed

Filling

• 1/2 c. butter
• 1/2 c. brown sugar
• 1/4 c. corn syrup
• 1/2 c. maple syrup
• The juice and grated zest of 1 lemon
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 c. dried cranberries
• 1 tsp. vanilla

Pastry:

Combine flour, butter and salt on the counter until mealy. Add the water
and mix gently until the pastry holds together, then smear small bits of pastry across the counter with the heel of your hand, once for each bit, then gather it all into a disc. Wrap and chill before using. Set oven at 400 F. Roll out pastry and cut circles to fit muffin pans or tart pans.

Filling:

Heat the butter and sugar until the butter melts, stirring. Combine the remaining ingredients and add the butter-sugar blend. Mix well, spoon the filling into the pastry-lined cups and put the tins onto baking sheets to catch any spills. Bake for 10 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 F and bake another 10-15 minutes. Cool in the pan.

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Our lake arrived suddenly and unannounced in April 2011 with the flood that inundated much of the province of Saskatchewan. We’d been in residence at what we’d named Dogpatch for less than a year, and we didn’t yet have a sense of the strategies that any resident of an old house in a rural setting can tell you are de rigueur.

We went from dryland to nearly drowned within a week, as the winter’s large snowmelt met an unexpectedly high water table, gift of a very wet summer and fall. Water over a metre deep in places covered the low-lying driveway, swamped the fields south, west and east of the yard, drowned the contents of the pole barn, and knocked at the house, lapping 20 feet from the front door.

Fortuitously, our cars were parked at the outside edge of our long driveway — that half-kilometre now an impassable stretch of water — so we did have wheels once we reached the road. But getting in and out was interesting. Our good neighbours, Ken and Sharon, did us the biggest in a long list of helping hands over the years, and gave us the use of an ATV.

For almost a year, as we awaited the rebuilding of our flooded road, we splashed through the adjacent field on board the ATV, hauling in groceries, computer parts and paper, dog food, kitty litter, wine, beer. On a dark, cold or rainy night, surrounded by mosquitoes, there was nothing pleasurable about that trip except for its end — and the carolling of the coyotes a few hundred metres away.

Eventually, in an amazing feat of winter engineering, the driveway was built up into a causeway, with front-end loaders breaking through metre-thick ice to build the foundation. A berm went up around the house as well, burying the well-tended garden beneath its protective shoulders.

But outweighing all these challenges was the sheer beauty of the new ecology that engulfed our land. Shorebirds, water birds, boreal tree frogs, cattails, bulrushes, black snails, muskrats, dragonflies — we were suddenly in a birder’s paradise. On my daily walks, I learned to identify a dozen species of waterfowl, among them grebes, coots, canvasbacks, teals, pintails, buffleheads, ruddy ducks, and mergansers; and shorebirds that included avocets and killdeer by the dozen. Occasionally a blue heron or pelican showed up, and Canada geese by the multitude.

We were forewarned. Within weeks of the lake’s arrival, I’d called Trevor Herriot, a Saskatchewan naturalist. “Lakes come and go on the prairie,” he said. “In eight or 10 years, it’ll be gone again.”

Sure enough, it’s gone. But the raised beds we built after the garden drowned have borne a wondrous crop. And for that, and for the memory of all those birds, we are grateful. So before embarking on our annual autumn yard cleanup, first we eat — new-crop vegetables made into pickles as addictive as any dessert.

Shon’s Jardineria

The best pickles ever, from my Eastend friend Shon Profit’s prodigious kitchen. Hot packing and stuffing the full jars into the fridge without processing makes a crisp pickle with a dense bite. Processing softens the end result somewhat. Yield: 2 x 2-litre jars plus 8 pints.

Brine

• 5 c. white vinegar
• 5 c. rice wine vinegar 10 c. water
• 3/4 c. salt
• 1 c. white sugar
• 3/4 tsp. ground turmeric

Dry spice

For 2-litre jar:

• 1 tbsp. coriander
• 1 tbsp. mustard seed
• 1 tbsp. cumin seed
• 1 tsp. fennel seed
• 1 tbsp. peppercorns
• 1/2 tsp. hot chili flakes

For 1-pint jar:

• 1/2 tsp. coriander
• 1/2 tsp. mustard seed
• 1/2 tsp. cumin seed
• 1/8 tsp. fennel seed
• 1/2 tsp. peppercorns
• A pinch hot chili flakes

Seasonings

In each 2-litre jar; reduce amount to taste for pints:

• 1 lime, rind in strips, flesh in 1/8s
• 1-2 whole hot peppers
• 6 peeled garlic cloves
• 6 batons ginger root cut in narrow strips 3 inches long

Your choice of raw vegetables

Cut in batons to length:

• Carrots in several colours
• Zucchini in 2 colours
• Beans in several colours
• Cauliflower florets
  White/yellow and purple onion wedges

Bring brine to boil and keep hot. Measure spices into hot sterile jars. Drop in seasonings. Pack in vegetables, softest textures first, packing with a pair of chopsticks for a tidy vertical look. Add carrots last to line outside and fill gaps.

Either refrigerate for 4-6 weeks before eating or process in canner.

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Also a short presentation about a plant called Goosefoot that few gardeners have heard of and possibly even fewer have grown. How Goosefoot acquired its common name is later revealed. Here at my urban turf area we have what is known as “Island on the Prairies” and is Portage la Prairie’s new tourism brand. The island is surrounded by Crescent Lake with a walking path along the edge. Except for winter when the water is frozen over, the lake and shoreline are a daily home to hundreds upon hundreds of resting, walking, swimming and flying geese late into autumn.

As a youngster I always wanted to ring the hand-held school bell in Grade 3 and never got the chance. Bells have always intrigued me and over the years I’ve collected a few of various sizes. For the love, respect and appreciation of horses I’ll end with a heartfelt story that indeed does have a bell connection. It’s all compiled on this Grainews page into some good reading so stick with me right through to the closing tag.

Tokyo Cross turnip – as easy to grow as radishes

That right! It’s not too late to sow summer turnip at the end of July and into early August if you seed the right varieties. Do it any time starting a day after arrival of the full moon on July 27, 2018 and within a week thereafter until August 3. Fast-maturing Tokyo Cross produces sweet, whole turnips that come quick and easy within 40 days. Dry periods and lack of soil fertility will set growth back and toughen the bulbs. Moisture-holding soil enriched with compost and seeds spaced an inch to 1-1/2 inches apart ensure quick growth and a happy return. This is not a turnip that produces tops and sacrifices bottoms, but instead directs energy into plenty of sweet and delicious whole white medium-size turnip globes about five cm (two inches) across. As long as they mature to size before the first heavy frost, Tokyo Cross turnip bulbs may be left in outdoor soil longer — often as late as Thanksgiving on October 8 or later. However, Tokyo Cross is so tender and delicious there’s a strong chance you’ll wind up not having enough left to go around. As it becomes more familiar Tokyo Cross has the potential of becoming the darling summer turnip grown by Canadian gardeners. Success with intercropping has also come into play. It’s been shown that Tokyo Cross turnip lends itself well to being planted in groups among or between rows of established eggplant, tomatoes, the corn patch and especially in association with peppers. You may also sow this turnip in combo with cool-season cole crops such as cabbage, cauliflower, kohlrabi and broccoli. There’s less chance of severe attacks from cabbage worm butterfly, cabbage root maggot and flea beetles with late-summer seeding of this turnip. Tokyo Cross turnip roots are more tender and sweeter. They can be cut in half with tops retained when preparing them for quick cooking in various side dishes and Oriental stir-fries. Tokyo Cross turnip seeds are available in four different-size packets from West Coast Seeds, 5300-34B Avenue, Delta, B.C. V4L 2P1, visit their website or telephone toll free 1-888-804-8820.

Is Goosefoot named after the foot of a goose?

Seems the answer is — yes. There are a number of species of Goosefoot plants. Some are often rank smelling and a number of other species have leaves that are shaped and resemble the foot of a goose — hence their common name. Chenopodium giganteum, also known as “Tree Spinach,” and “Giant Tree Spinach,” is a very rapid-growing architectural attention getter and a curiosity too. But it’s also known for tasty, nutritious spinach-flavoured greens that appear on a tree-like structure capable of growing over two metres (four to six feet) tall. Tree Spinach is native to mountainous regions of India and easily cultivated. It is in the same family as quinoa and lamb’s quarters. Tree Spinach serves a dual purpose. Although it is often grown as an attractive formidable image plant, it is just as likely to be grown as a fresh vegetable. You can simply pull off the large continuously produced leaves. They can be used either as young leaves in salads, or the more mature ones are cooked like spinach. For best results, seeds can be sown directly outside into prepared soil when spring weather allows. Alternatively, start plants during early spring in the greenhouse and afterward transfer established plants into final summer position outdoors.

If you like spinach and enjoy cooking with it, consider growing some Tree Spinach in lieu of the regular garden variety. Tree Spinach is a plant that is beautiful in the garden and excites not only the gardener but also passersby. Not much wonder, what with its soft green leaves and a splash of deep magenta pink at the top of each stem. It is easy to grow too — and much more productive than what we’ve come to recognize as ordinary spinach. Tree Spinach is also a tasty crop with a milder flavour than ordinary spinach. Some might argue it’s almost as good, and others would agree it’s a little better or has a taste of its own. It belongs in the same plant family as ordinary spinach, beets and Swiss chard, and is one of the many that have a long history of being grown in gardens or gathered wild. Tree Spinach is also cultivated in China and many other parts of the world. It is not native to any country in America, either north or south. If you haven’t tried growing other spinach previously, let Tree Spinach surprise you and then be ready for your first cutting in 30 to 45 days.

Giant Goosefoot Magentaspreen a.k.a. Tall Tree Spinach seeds are available from West Coast Seeds in Delta, B.C. For complete contact information refer back to end of the section under Tokyo Cross turnip.

The blind horse

During my youthful years I listened to a lot of radio including dramas, sports and soap operas. As a result, I developed a keen imagination. When you read the following story, the hope is that readers will also appreciate it that much more by relying a bit on their imagination. Let’s begin.

Not far down the road is a field with two horses in it. When glancing at them from a distance both horses appear like most any other horse. But — if you stop to be closer while driving by or are walking by, an attentive person soon notices something quite amazing. Looking into the eyes of one horse immediately discloses that it is blind, but the owner has chosen not to have this horse put down and instead has provided a good home for the rest of its days. That alone is quite remarkable. Now if you are listening when nearby, the sound of a bell will be heard. While looking around for the source of the bell sound, you will observe it comes from the other horse farther out in the field. Attached to her halter is a small bell. It lets her blind horse friend know where she is so he can follow her. As you stand and watch these two friends you’ll see that she is always checking on him and that he listens for her bell and then slowly walks to where she is, instinctively knowing that she will not lead him astray. When she returns to the shelter of the barn each night, she occasionally looks back to make sure her friend isn’t too far back to hear the bell. Like the owner of these two horses, our family and friends with the help of God do not throw us away just because we are not perfect or have tripped up, or because we have problems, challenges; health or work issues. The Creator watches over us and also brings others into our lives to help and assist us when we are in need. Sometimes we are like the blind horse being guided by the little ringing bell of those placed in our pathways. Other times we are as the guide horse, helping others see. Family and true friends are like this. They are the ones who come in when the world has gone out. They are like the clock that never runs down once it is wound up. You don’t always see them but you know they are always there. Please listen for the bell and I’ll be listening too.

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