Last month when I was working from Toronto, my sister and I took an evening walk through The Annex and the sprawling downtown campus of UofT. It was a mild autumn night and we had no particular destination. Perfect.

We strolled like flaneurs through the striking streets and everywhere I looked I was captivated by some scene. Pumpkins growing in crowded front lawns, expressive gargoyles making faces from century buildings, intoxicating roses, haunting shadows, secret courtyards. At one point in our meanderings I glanced up to get a better look at a particular tree. I recognized the leaves from Roddy’s astute tree ID skills, which leave him noodle-necking in the presence of trees all the time, and have apparently rubbed off on me.

Tori and I were in the company of a great walnut tree. I scanned it’s branches for the telltale “balls”. I squinted against the lamp post’s white beam of light, spotted a cluster of balls and climbed a fence to reach one. Have you ever held a black walnut ball in your hands? They have a beveled surface and a strong odour - the kind that makes you cringe but keeps your nose stuck up against it inhaling at the same time.

I carried my prize back to my sister’s so I could confirm it’s identity, and to experiment. Out came the cutting board. Out came the kitchen knife. I hacked and pried and was only able to remove half of the thick outer coating - just enough to reveal a walnut-looking shell. Aha! Success! But wait… my fingers and fingernails were stained a sallow yellow, which remained for weeks and made me look like an ex chain smoker whose nicotine fingernails were slowly growing out.

Roddy had more success extracting the nuts. And guess where this load came came from? Our front lawn!

Yes, we are the proud owners of a tall black walnut tree which is providing us with copious amounts of fruit. While I snapped this photo of our tree yesterday, walnuts were dropping to the ground at such a rate I had to keep my distance to protect Roddy’s camera and my noggin.

The nuts, which are smaller than the California walnuts you’ll find at the grocery store, are not only edible, apparently they’re a bit of rare gourmet find! To sift the good from the bad, just soak them in a bucket of water and keep the ones that sink (the floaters are bad eggs). Now we wait for the nuts to cure and the flavour to develop (read more here on how to harvest black walnuts).

The indelible marks from my initial experiment are gone and I look like a non-smoker again. I’m still chuffed, however, that I discovered a rare tree in my receptive-to-all-the-wonder-around-me state. And I now have a daily reminder of the importance of tapping into my inner flaneur - a towering black walnut on the edge of our little farm.

Last weekend was all about Tim. The celebration kicked off on the eve of his birthday and continued from breakfast ‘til dinner the next day. It was birthday excess in it’s finest form. Kind of like the birthdays you dream of having as a kid: more, more, more!

When I was a kid Tim walked on water. More than a cousin, he was my stand-in big brother. I still look up to him, but not because he can pop wheelies, burp the alphabet, or snort spaghetti up his nose and make it come out his mouth.

Now I’m just glad we’re living in the same city again after 19 years. He gets to harass me about the old days and I can give him a kick in the ass to stop waffling. We offer insight on the secret ways of men and women. We share breakfast once a week in our hood. I donate my homemade soup and tea biscuits. He gifts me with his homemade jam.

A few months ago, I witnessed part of this recipe unfold in Tim’s kitchen. He and a friend dressed up in black and raided plum trees at night in Fernwood. I hope he’s still here this summer to pass on his secrets (of plum-thievery and jam-making). His illicit jam goes down too easily!

The edible apples from our back garden are past their prime now – destined for fun projects like shrunken heads. But our crisper still isn’t clear of the fruit. A colleague of Roddy’s gifted us with at least 20 of these beautiful large babies, and, my sweet tooth beckoning for attention, I embarked on my first crumble.

This is actually not the first time I’ve ever made this dessert. I was an assistant to Roddy’s mum Shona in a berry variety a couple of summers ago up at my family cottage in northern Ontario. I seem to recall having difficulty with the crumble part. Shona and Alistair will likely have a more vivid memory of my “difficulty,” but I can say that my fingers were a bit too keen and strong and the crumble was, well, pulverized to a fine power.

Unfortunately, Roddy’s intervention in this crumble was also too late, and in an ugly twist of fortune I ended up with a new manhandled dessert mishap: Apple Powder a la MANdrea.

Next time, I shall try to remember to leave the muscles at the door and enter my kitchen with grace, poise and pearls around my neck. And if I forget, hopefully the vintage Sixties pyrex dish will trigger my memory.

‘Tis the season when apples are in absolute abundance. Right now, apples are dominating our crisper, our counter top, and the grassy damp carpet of our backyard. To eat, or not to eat? That is the question!

There are the common standby’s: crumbles, cobblers, pies and sauces. Or for the more committed, alternatives exist in the form of dried rings, chutneys and butters. These days, I haven’t got 26 hours to devote to a homemade apple butter – check out this crowd-pleaser if you do. I can, however, clear my calendar for some good fun. And this photo in a book of gags caught my eye:

With patience, this simple project reveals the fruits of a little labor in one week. Don’t wait to take a paring knife to your overflowing supply of apples. Above are creations by myself, Asha and Roddy (photos courtesy of Roddy).

Shrunken Heads:

- fun-loving apples destined for a non-culinary project
- creative carver(s)
- pairing knife
- 1/3 cup of cider vinegar

1. peel apples
2. carve facial features – the sloppier the better
3. douse apple in bowl of cider vinegar
4. tie 4 inches of string to apple stem (if stem is missing, as in our case, proceed to Plan B – zombie apples – and affix string to nails bored into the sides of the apple’s ‘head’)
5. hang apple from oven rack in oven set to absolute lowest setting for 1 hour
6. remove apple from oven and hang indoors for one week
7. enjoy your home-made demonic shrunken head!

What’s Thanksgiving without a bit of tomfoolery? Perhaps it was the fact that no “grown-ups” were invited to our long weekend festivities, or maybe it was being reunited with friends who share our hedonistic Edinburgh past, but high jinx were in the air.

After a night of dancing to house DJs Lawnchair Generals and playing in the park ‘til 6:30am, Asha, Vic, Roddy and I eased into our kitchen marathon with a trip to the bountiful pumpkin patches in Saanich. Rows upon rows of brilliant orange pumpkins filled the patchwork country scenery… and when no cars were in sight…

With this act, the games had begun and Thanksgiving suddenly became about the hunt for local booty to grace our plates!

Asha is a woman with culinary prowess. Once we had the trunk full of our base ingredients, she went to work creating our menu. A few pumpkins, a squash, and half a dozen onions were transformed into a rich pumpkin, asiago and chanterelle risotto, with apples from a colleague’s backyard baked in a hearty crumble for dessert. A delicious meal with free-flowing friends, which had heightened flavours from the thrill of the chase!

How did you spend your Thanksgiving?

As luck would have it, our new backyard holds hidden treasures. Eight trees are starting to bear fruit! Here’s what we have to look forward to: pears, at least two varieties of apples, plums and one that has us completely stumped! The healthier of our two pear trees is producing fruit at startling rate. Anyone have creative ideas for preserving pears?

The varieties of these apples and plum and eludes us, and I feel like a detective trying to solve the mystery of the last fruit/nut/olive(!?):