Meat + Fire = Good

This post is dedicated to my really awesome Uncle Mike, who sent us the barbeque. Thank you so much!

"There're no instructions," my husband informed me with a small frown, surrounded by a sea of parts - some black, some chrome, and all of them inconveniently not looking like a barbeque.
"What?" I said, snorting quietly as I looked up over my laptop's screen. I'd come out to the living room to offer moral support - I only say 'moral support' because I can be really annoying when it comes to assembling various household items and it drives him batty. "That's ridiculous. There has to be."
"Not anywhere. This book just has general care guidelines and recipes in three languages," he said, holding the offending bit of newsprint aloft. "Aw, it'll be all right. It's not that hard."

These, as you know, are famous last words.  I felt my blood run cold, as if he'd just invited disaster to come sweeping through the apartment and crash on our sofa for an uncomfortably long period of time.

"Are you sure?" I asked, squinting at him.
"Yeah, all I need to do is snap this into here..."
"Let me Google for an instruction manual."
"... and this into here..."
"Lessee... Weber charcoal grill..." Click, click.
"... this goes over here..."
"What the hell?" I stared at my screen, gesturing at it in disgust. "All the links for the instruction manuals on the manufacturer's site are pointing back to the main page!"
"Uh oh. Where does this go?" He frowned at a piece of aluminum in his hand.
"I mean, seriously! Look at this! How stupid is their website maintainer?"
"This doesn't fit." His face scrunched up in dismay as he tried to figure out where to attach, screw, or snap the offending piece.
"If I click on this instruction manual, I expect to be taken to the instruction manual, not the table of contents for all the manuals they have!" I huffed indignantly.
"Hm." *BANG BANG BANG* "Nope. Still doesn't fit."
"I should write a letter."
"Hon?"
"Yeah?"
"This doesn't fit."


Now please don't get the wrong idea, oh gentle reader. The husband and I are not stupid. In fact, we are university educated people - which means that a lot of people with more letters after their names than letters in their names established that we should have functioning brains between our ears, and gave us very expensive bits of paper to hang on our walls and show off at dinner parties (if we had them) and start off the best stories with, "This one time when I was in university...".

However, we could not put together a barbeque without an instruction manual.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

vv More after the jump! vv

Cooking: Dark Chocolate Tart with Gingersnap Crust + Fresh Raspberry Sauce

I love to cook. It's not like I come from a long line of incredible culinary wizards, or anything like that - my family made good, homecooked meals that you long for at the end of a bad day, or look forward to excitedly every holiday season.

For example, my Oma makes incredible schnitzel and dumplings that can make me drool just by thinking about them, and the rest of the family swears by her potato salad (although I'm not a fan of potato salad in general). My Grandma made the most amazing icebox cookies that I remember loving at Christmas because of the red and green maraschino cherries in them, and how good they tasted with walnuts in the brown-sugar based dough. I have lots of fond memories of baking Christmas cookies with my mom (twelve kinds for the twelve days of Christmas, you know). We still have my great-grandmother's recipe on its original hand-written card for 'marzipan' - which isn't marzipan at all, but it is a rice-flour based cake that tastes like almonds.

There is very little I enjoy more than cooking for others. I love that little surge of pride when someone tells me they've enjoyed something I've created for them, or they ask for the recipe. Even those incoherent 'mmm!' noises make me smile, because I brought a little spot of enjoyment for even a moment.

Now there are a million blogs out there that talk about cooking and food far more eloquently than I ever could. They also have a better point of view, and are probably more talented and driven than I am. They also take beautiful pictures that I can't even start to dream of composing. I freely admit that I am a kitchen dabbler in comparison to them. My knifework isn't something legendary, and when I decorate cakes and the like I usually run out of patience before I run out of frosting simply because I lack knowledge, and imperfections in my work bother me to death. I am a perfectionist who discourages herself because if it doesn't turn out just SO, then clearly I am a failure!

I never said it made sense.

I cook because I enjoy the process of taking ingredients and turning them into something delicious, of the bonding that comes over a good meal. It's why we remember the awkward family dinners during the holidays more than we remember the day-to-day ones: somewhere in there are memories, and at the end of the day, that's all we have to take with us.

Now, just because I'm waxing philosophical about family gatherings and the like doesn't mean I grew up in a Leave It To Beaver idyllic family - God, no, we were as dysfunctional as they come! Lots of dinners were uncomfortable affairs no one wanted to be at when I was younger, because the adults were not happy with one another for a variety of reasons, and generations constantly butted heads. But even so, there's always that little gremlin of memory that pops up and reminds you that 'hey, sure, this event was rough but there's this one thing that was really pretty cool'.

In recent years, as I grow older and ostensibly wiser, I remember family dinners far more fondly now - maybe I've developed an appreciation for it that I didn't have as a child. You take a lot for granted when you're little, and you don't think a whole lot about ten years in the future when you've got a plate of roast turkey and stuffing in front of you, you're surrounded by your favourite people in the world, and you know there's dessert waiting. It's about the 'now', instead of the 'later' when you're younger.

That's enough navel-gazing for now, I think.

Let's go on to the whole point of this post: recipes! I just made this delicious dessert last night, and although I don't have pictures of it, it turned out and sounded as elegant as you think it might. The in-laws seemed to appreciate it, and even though the husband and I have been together a long time, there's always that little nudge of pressure to have something turn out just so to impress the other side of the recently-joined family tree.

vv  Recipe after the jump!  vv

The Age Old Debate

President Obama was in Buffalo for a grand total of 3 hours today. Of course, the local news has about six hours of reporting to do about it, including interpreting every last bit of body language he had during his speech at some industrial plant somewhere and WHAT IT MEANS FOR BUFFALO blah blah political punditry ahoy.

It's ridiculous, but I've waxed philosophical on that already today.

However, as most tourists do when they come to the city, he stopped for chicken wings. There are two places to go for 'authentic' chicken wings in Buffalo: there's the Anchor Bar, and there's Duff's. I actually don't live all that far from Duff's, and I've been there a couple times - even their medium sauce is hot, as I have learned.

The debate rages between most Buffalo citizens: Anchor Bar, the supposed birthplace of the chicken wing, or Duff's, who has won televised contests between the two?

President Obama went to Duff's and got himself an order of medium wings, but switched to five regular, five extra-spicy.

I guess that settles that.

PS: Oh, and he got called a 'hottie' too. Seriously. Not kidding. I will never understand people.

Hail To The Chief

I live in Buffalo, NY.

To be fair, it's not the most happening place in the US, but it's not a terrible place either. It's not the hustle and bustle of New York City, nor does it have the all-encompassing cultural roots that a place like Chicago has, and it isn't the cosmopolitan epicentre that Los Angeles is. However, it has plenty of its own smaller, less obvious quirks, and it's always a delight to find them. I'll probably explore those later on, when we have sunlight and summer to highlight some of the fantastic architecture I've seen just on our drives around town.

What I'm actually going to talk about is the President. Love him or hate him, President Barack Obama is actually visiting Buffalo today. One of the local blogs I follow reported some local steel workers have created a rather snazzy-looking presidential seal out of steel for the President to take back to the White House as a souvenir of the town, which used to be quite famous for its role in the 'Steel Belt' (now know more as the 'Rust Belt', as it was heavily linked to the US automotive business - look how that worked out for Detroit).

I suppose it's a bit of a difference between Canada and the United States, but I never cease to be amazed at how Americans treat their politicians. Some are rock stars - Obama certainly comes to mind. Others are treated as social lepers - Blagojevich, I'm looking at you. In Canada, I don't think we've had a politician since Trudeau that has really taken hold of the Canadian psyche and given it a twist enough that women scream so shrilly that dolphins in the south Pacific are chittering for them to shut up. When the Prime Minister comes to town, people are more likely to just outright ignore him than wave signs and cheer and throw panties, or what have you.

Americans seem to have fetishized their politicians - which is such a strange sentence to write - to the point where they get annoyed if you don't know who they are, or can't rattle off their achievements in office. Like other celebrities, they have the ability to start trends just by saying 'I like this', or wearing their hair in a certain style. How many times did CNN comment about Michelle Obama's outfits being from J Crew instead of Chanel? Constantly! And how much did J Crew's profits spike? Exactly.

It's the same with movie stars: most people know who Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie are, even if all they've given us is entertainment in both movie and tabloid form. And like most famous people, everyone knows who the President is - but how many of you could name five other heads of state? Would you even care to?

Perhaps Obama is the greatest hope for the country to regain its former world-stage glory, or perhaps he's the dying gasp of a nation buckling under exorbitant debt and mismanagement. Either way, he's a guy doing a job he was elected by a majority of the country to do. That's all. Just a guy.

People forget that, I think, and get very upset when their would-be gods and saviours fail, as men (and women, I'm not sexist) often do. They get mad when their politicians have extramarital affairs, or are homosexual, or don't go to church every Sunday here. Canadians get mad when politicians waste tax money on bribes, or blow a budget, or cut spending on health care. Americans won't bat an eye towards that, but don't even think about suggesting Senator Joe Blow from Ohio is fooling around with a hooker - that'll be top story on CNN for days! ... oh and yeah there's all kinds of other bad stuff happening in the world, but SENATOR JOE BLOW CAN'T KEEP HIS PANTS ZIPPED UP MORE AFTER THE BREAK WITH WOLF BLITZER.

In summation, I think it's easiest to sum up the two different viewpoints on politics and all things associated with it in the countries just by looking at the major tenets of the respective country-forming bills (The Declaration of Independence, and the Canadian Constitution):

America has 'life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness'.
Canada has 'peace, order and good government'.

Makes you wonder a bit, doesn't it?

You Say Tomato, I Say Ketchup

The husband and I have been discussing what to do out on our little balcony here in our upper apartment. It's a front balcony, and we've been trying to gather what things we can to decorate and make it summer-ready, for long nights of sitting outside and trying to catch an errant breeze that isn't laden with mosquitoes or smog.

"I think we need a few of those Muskoka chairs out front with the barbeque," I said.

"You mean Adirondack," he corrected me with a knowing smile.
"No, hon." I frowned, scratching my head. "Muskoka."
"We call them Adirondack chairs down here," he explained. "You can't call them Muskoka chairs, no one would have any idea what you're talking about."
"Nonsense! Everyone knows what one is!"

I checked everyone's argument solver, Google, to prove how right I was.

Results for "Muskoka chair": About 40,400
Results for "Adirondack chair: About 1,050,000

... well, dammit, eh.

They Say 'Eh' A Lot, Don't They?

Un Canadien errant,

Banni de ses foyers,

Parcourait en pleurant

Des pays étrangers.

An errant ‘Canadien’

Banished from his homeland

Weeping, he travels on

Wandering through foreign lands

Hello, gentle readers, and welcome to this little piece of the internet I have staked out and called my own.

I am a Canadian woman who finally got around to marrying her American fiance on March 7, 2010 after a gauntlet of immigration hurdles to jump (and are still jumping as I type this). Much like the protagonist in the song, I am all but 'exiled' - but for a brief period of time, at least! - as crossing the border to return home before the paperwork is finished would result in the revoking of my temporary status and reset all the work we've done to get to this point.

Nuts to that.

Having moved to the United States and become immersed in a culture I mostly am familiar with through television and bad jokes, I've been adjusting over time - and been simultaneously amazed and confused by it all. This blog will hopefully be home to some of my more amusing exploits, including cultural misunderstandings, kitchen adventures, knitting follies, and general observations about life in one of the most extroverted countries in the world.

The name of this blog, Une Canadienne Errant, is a ham-fisted attempt at a nod to my home country and its other official language (of which I can barely speak). The song is a bit dramatic, certainly, but it's stuck with me for a long time because of how longing the man in the story is to see his home and hearth once more. There are days I identify with the poor wandering soul, and other days I think he's a big whiner. It's all about perception, isn't it?

I'd been bandying about the idea of writing about my new life here in Buffalo, New York for a while - while just a stone's throw from the border, there's enough of a change that it makes life quite interesting for all those involved: my husband, my in-laws, my own family as well. I didn't want this blog to be a cutesy re-telling of our relationship - twoo wuv makes me twoowy nauseous - but more of a humourous spin on relationships, culture shock, adjusting to a new life; as well as being a chance to show off my various hobbies, such as cooking, baking, knitting, reading and video games (wow, don't those look odd all lined up next to one another?)

Ultimately I hope that what I share here at the least entertains, and at the most makes you think. Of course, if it's a recipe, book, joke, game or a pattern, I hope it tastes/looks/feels/plays/is good.

Welcome! Or perhaps I should say... Bienvenue!