Did I Mention the Garlic?

Earlier this month my office had a potluck lunch. I made mint pea soup, which, thankfully, was a huge hit because I'd never made it before. I break that cardinal rule of cooking a lot, don't I?

While I can take the credit for chopping the vegetables and putting it all together, the recipe is from Jamie Oliver's new book Jamie's Food Revolution. I bought it at the end of the summer using a Chapters gift card I'd received for my birthday. In February. Oups! Believe it or not I spent February until August trying to figure out what book to buy myself. See, I would hate to buy some book I'd never read before, get it home, end up hating it and then have it live on my shelf for eternity. But buying a book I've already read seems equally silly. Perfect solution to this problem? Cookbook!

I've made about a dozen recipes from Food Revolution already and almost every one has been a huge hit, especially the chicken stew I made last night, the tikka salmon on naan and the garlic chicken. That last one is where Jamie proves his worth as a chef and earns a Nobel nomination in my eyes. The dude thought to put butter and garlic directly into the breading for the chicken. Genius.

What I love about this book - beautiful pictures and really, REALLY easy recipes. What I don't love? Jamie and I seem to be having an issue with liquids. Now, I have other cookbooks written by British authors, I know how to convert measurements. I even have a kitchen scale and a handy conversion chart to help me, but even so, several of the recipes need more liquid than Jamie calls for.

But it's a small price to pay for breaded chicken with garlic RIGHT IN THE BREADING! Have I said that yet? Cause it is truly divine and should be mentioned. Again.

My Unibrow Baby

I have a nemesis. Only she doesn't know it.

She's one of those nosy Nellies who can't seem to leave well enough alone. She lives in my apartment building and walks around with a pair of scissors in her purse so she can cut down posters and fliers people put up on telephone poles. That's right, scissors in her purse.

And I'm not talking ads for psychics or all-night rave orgies - she's ruthless in her efforts to stop illegal telephone pole posting (which is ruining western civilization?): signs for apartment rentals, free language lessons, lost kittens. This woman has no conscience! But really, who made her telephone pole police?

Until recently, I would secretly seethe over this woman's high and mightiness whenever I saw her. If we both got into the elevator together, I'd smile, but wouldn't say hello. (Man, you don't want to get on my bad side.)

But over the last few weeks things have gotten more complicated. My nemesis has started talking to me. Well, that's being generous - really she's started talking to my son - the most angelic and lovable child to walk the earth, when he isn't screaming "mumee, mumee, mumee - more cackers!" She's really quite pleasant to us (him) so it kind of makes it awkward for me to secretly hate her while happily chit chatting about napping and messy faces.

It's also hard because, as the women who just last weekend threw my hands up in air and made a muffled "ugh!" sound when someone butted in front of me in line for the cash at Old Navy, I KNOW I will become this woman one day - wandering the neighbourhood muttering about how rude people are these days . . .