My pal and colleague Lindsay, also known as David Suzuki’s Queen of Green, was out for a visit this week. We also call her Mama because she has a green recipe for absolutely everything under the sun, including safe homemade cosmetics free of the dirty dozen harmful ingredients. Super-nurturing and mothering this one. And also full of entertaining stories. It’s no wonder she’s got a syndicated column in the Metro now.

Linz is also real farm stock. Armed with her fancy digital SLR she strolled around the farm and captured these images. I love seeing what others are drawn to here - their framing of scenes at Gothic Cottage is so different from my own. Very refreshing!

If you’re also coveting a fancy camera, enter David Suzuki’s Nature in the City Flickr photo contest. Happy snapping and enjoy the weekend!

Julia Child, why am I so late in discovering you?! When your name first came into my lexicon while I was interning for Food Network’s Opening Soon, I let the reference go un-researched. You sounded old fasioned and fluffy. I was drawn instead to the raw, behind the scenes expose of the restaurant biz, as told through the wry humour of Anthony Bourdain. I’ve matured in five years, however, and I’m now ready to dive into your tantalizing French recipes and learn more about your culinary journey.

Julia & Julia was an excellent primer to the life of the woman who brought French cuisine into the homes of Americans from the 1960s, and one of her loyal followers who blogs her way through a personal challenge to cook every recipe in Child’s famous cookbook in one year. Meryl Streep, phenom that she is, has set me on a mission to scour local bookshops for a used copy of Child’s seminal cookbook Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume 1 and get tucked right in. Rich sauces, homemade mayonnaise, heavenly pastries, and sinful tarts and cakes await.

My challenge: to locavore-ize some of Child’s buttery delights. I’m sure French cuisine will be a mission in itself, but I want to concoct recipes that highlight fresh, local ingredients, and also taste mouth wateringly delicious.

What about you? Are you inspired by the towering, bubbly, culinary genius? Tried any of her recipes? Want to join me in the kitchen with Julia? Leave a comment below before midnight on August 31st, and I’ll send the winner a free copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume 1. Yum! 

Welcome to our dining room. Allow me to take you on a little tour of the tear down. This is the site of our future kitchen - the place where magical flavours will come to life and our diligent kitties will keep the mice from our cupboards.

This is our dining room the day after we arrived. We weren’t fans of the 1970s linoleum, so up it came.

Underneath the lino was a layer of ply board with hundreds of nails. That came up in a day with Roddy’s heft and his new crowbar.

Here we have the floors as they still are today: tongue and groove pine(?), painted dark brown along two edges with a big stain on the top right corner. These aren’t the final layer - the original pine planks lie beneath. We could just keep the cover-up layer, but we’re too curious about the original boards. We’re also throwing caution to the wind and mining away until we get things to the state we want them. This mindset carried over to the walls.

Roddy’s brother Andrew didn’t want to miss out on some good destruction fun, so he came down from Ottawa for a weekend to help Roddy tear down the painted wood paneling. We knew it was risky - who knew what disaster it might be hiding? - but we’re risk takers.

Wallpaper isn’t for us, especially wallpaper from the 1950s. This pale pink paper looked a bit like my Grade 8 graduation Laura Ashley dress… not something I want to be reminded of everyday. So off it came too after lots of Mackenzie sweat (don’t tell Andrew we ended up trashing the plaster it was glued to).

The walls were too far gone to preserve, so Roddy pried them off and we entered the dusty lath and plaster phase. Dust aside, it was very atmospheric to live for awhile with a skeleton of a room.

My sister Tori thought the space was brilliant: “there must be something you can do to keep these walls intact?! This looks SO cool!” She’s an image artist.

Roddy and I liked the raw, barn gallery look, but it wasn’t very practical for a kitchen. So when Victoria came to visit from out west we finished the job of ripping out the lath and plaster.

And this is what we’re left with now. Roddy is in the midst of rewiring before we put drywall up and dream of our new kitchen layout: a deep and long country-style sink, hodgepodge cupboards, butcher block counter-top, fresh cut flowers, pantry, big old table with mismatched chairs, yellows, old tins… can you see it?

We could’ve just followed advice, painted the wood paneling, and added layers to the lino. But we never would have been satisfied; dogged by that nagging voice that says: “this isn’t you. This isn’t what you want!” We haven’t pulled up the second layer of pine floors yet and every time I cross the floor I cringe a little as the “cover up floor” creaks. All I hear are the original boards screaming to be released from the weight of an unnecessary layer.

Peeling back the layers of your house is a cathartic process. The walls that others have tried to build up around you come crumbling down as you dare to create the space that you want.

Knit. Stitch. Bitch.

I bought this bargain antique from the Sally Anne in Nanaimo a year and a half ago. It’s seen the light of day three times - most recently for a long overdue project: Mac Sacs. Roddy’s patiently waiting for his, and my “trial” sac is waiting for a new button.

I didn’t follow a pattern but the fact that this pouch is functional is probably pure luck. I sure love the the hum of the Singer and the sensation of fabric whizzing through my fingers. It’s a good thing too: I may need to make my own clothes soon out of sheer necessity!

See that pointed finger? No one seems to be paying attention. Shona is doing her thing, Roddy’s gaze is elsewhere, and Nancy has left the scene completely.

We were on vacation, but I wanted to work in the garden. I offered my services (I had something to prove - my baking “services” at Redburn are still the butt end of jokes). And I was happy to help, I just didn’t expect to be taken so seriously… while on holiday. So after stepping up to the plate with pick axe in hand to dig the trench, I played bench warmer the following day to document our fine group achievement.

But photos can be deceptive. Alistair is a man of action. He knows what he wants, and he knows how he wants it done. Whether it’s pruning fruit trees, prepping a bondie (bonfire for those non-Scots), or planting a beech hedge. He whipped us into shape and had the continuation of the hedge he planted with Ru and Cal done and dusted in no time.

Kudos to Al! Not only do he and Shona now have a balanced border to their beautiful Nairnshire property, but he taught Roddy and I how to plant a beech hedge:

1. Dig trench about 1 ft wide, and 2 ft deep. Be prepared to be told to dig deeper. Then prepare yourself for further instruction to dig deeper still.

2. Swing the pick axe like you mean it. No namby-pamby nonesense - let the axe do the work.

3. Remove bountiful stones while shoveling earth off to side. Brace your back against striking stones forcefully (and unintentionally) with shovel, again and again.

4. Take a break - a refreshing G&T recommended at this time.

5. Purchase spindly beech trees from friendly local nursery.

6. “Heel them in” to soil until ready to plant (this keeps the roots alive).

7. Take another break if on holiday.

8. Shovel a good layer of composted dung into the trench.

9. Plant wee beech trees a foot apart, sprinkle bone meal over roots, and fill with earth from side of trench.

10. Water in.

11. Admire your work.

Looks like spring, doesn’t it? Chilled out kittie.  Roddy working up a sweat in a thin top. Can you hear the birds chirping? Can you see the edge of the box containing our basil seedlings? They’re growing tall and looking for a transplant.  Here Roddy is yesterday throwing together a cold frame from scrap materials. It’s not quite there yet, but neither is spring apparently.

Here’s the scene from our kitchen window this morning. Yep. Cold frame will have to wait for hot lovin’.

‘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!