Tag Archives: Cooking

Blending

I’m feeling the call of health: to rid my life of alcohol, caffeine and aspartame; to regain the fitness that I lost in the months following my exit from the Tour du Canada; to let peace and love guide my actions throughout the day.  I’ve never learned to cook but I’m also feeling the virginal need to prepare simple meals.  In the spirit of moving into the mystery of meal preparation, I bought a blender.

I needed some gesture of addressing the problem, a symbol of taking action in this arena.  At this point, I wouldn’t need recipes.  I wouldn’t need to think too much, of the furrowed brow variety.  I just need to gather healthy items around me that I could mush together to create nutrition in a thick liquid.

And so I shopped, this time without my dear wife Jodiette making the executive decisions.  Here’s my list so far:

Unflavoured almond milk
Plain Greek yogurt
Lemon and coconut Activia yogurt
Almond butter
Chunks of fresh fruit, which gradually have morphed into chunks of frozen fruit
Granola
Bran buds
Bananas
Spinach
Wee little carrots
Unsalted mixed nuts

Well, that’s sort of a recipe … or several of them.  It’s a fragile road I’m walking, so new and undeveloped.  But I’m glad I’m here.  Baby steps forward to nutritional independence.  Just holding the tumbler of goodness in my hand is somehow soothing, with a soupçon of inspiration tossed in.

Blending.  Things merging.  I’ve also recently experienced that in the broad span of living.  In my better moments, there’s a sense of no hard edges between me and other people.  It feels like a painting created in pastel colours of chalk, with some unknown artist taking a white cloth and rubbing the hues together.  All this disappears in the tough times, such as last Saturday.  Then the lines were straight and bold, the distance between us immense, the loneliness like a dagger in the heart.  Perhaps I should just leave those times of separation alone, to let them breathe.  And to welcome the sweet contact of togetherness when it smiles on me.

Something is moving in me.  Something is climbing in me, even though it seems to be two steps up, one back … or sometimes the reverse.

Smoothie, anyone?

A Cook Named Bruce

Long ago, in a fantasy land called Vancouver, I invited my girlfriend over for supper.  I don’t remember the main course but dessert was special.  You’ll be happy to know that I had lovingly created a chocolate pie with a graham cracker crust.  It was cooling in the fridge.  With great aplomb, I opened the door and reached in.  As I pulled out the pie, I noticed that there were waves on the surface.  To my horror, I gazed down at Lake Chocolate.  I hadn’t got the memo that the pudding needed to be cooked.  My friend was so gracious.  She spooned up her soup with grace.

This memory has stayed vivid for close to fifty years.  All those decades have reinforced the basic concept: “I can’t cook.”  Jody was marvelous in the kitchen, creating so many yummy meals.  I was marvelous in the kitchen too, except that my office was the sink rather than the stove.

Now I’ve started with Derek, such a knowledgeable trainer at the fitness club.  He’s not only gung ho about strength and cardio … nutrition is a biggie too.  He’s lent me a book called Gourmet Nutrition.  Last Thursday, being well aware of my lack of culinary art, Derek challenged me to make a meal on the weekend, following one of the 120 recipes in the book.  “It can be the simplest thing, Bruce.  Will you do it?”

Yes.

This afternoon, I gazed over at Gourmet Nutrition.  It was sitting there on my end table, sticking its tongue out at me.  “How insensitive!” I moaned.

Two hours ago, I flipped to “Breakfast”.  And all was revealed to me on page 42: “Banana Cream Pie Oatmeal”.  Actually, I had already scoped out the recipe after Derek placed cheffing in my ear.  I went to the grocery store to locate the large flake oats and the coconut milk.  Except when I got home, I saw that my hand was full of coconut water.  Clearly I haven’t exercised cooking muscles so far in life.  But I laughed at my mistake!  And that felt good.

Now, the prep.  I felt like such a fish out of water but I surged ahead anyway.  “In a small pot, bring milk and coconut milk to a boil under medium heat.”  I can do this.  Five minutes in, the milks didn’t seem to be doing anything so I cranked it up to high.  Maybe two minutes after that – you guessed it – the white concoction breached the pot, despite the lid that I’d set at a jaunty angle.  White goo flowing over black stove.  And strange after strange, I laughed again.

“Add the oats.  Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until milk is absorbed (approximately 7 to 10 minutes).”  Again, nothing seemed to be happening.  Again, I cranked the knob – up to medium-high this time.  I stirred like a banshee (assuming such people stir).  Twenty minutes later, I called it quits, declaring that the milk was sort of absorbed.  So … hotter than recommended, and far longer than indicated.  Gosh, cooking is a mystery.

Eventually, I poured a mélange (that’s probably a cool cooking word) of banana, protein powder and water over my coconut-flavoured oatmeal and headed for my couch.  On the first taste, my heart soared.  The flavour was fine.  That wasn’t my joy.  Very simply, I had done it.  I had created something delicious and nutritious, using an actual stove.  Oh, what a good boy am I!

Could this be the start of something really, really big?  Time will tell.