A little German in me...

So it has been cold.  But not Canadian cold.  But just cold enough to warrant a nightly hot bath and warm socks.  And candles and the need to really tell yourself to leave your haven of an apartment.  Because even in the winter, the outside world does exist.

I am back and in the swing of things and enjoying my yoga practice to a new degree.  I am bounding out of bed, even after not so much sleep to do strange and interesting things like stand on my head for fun.  I even think I need less sleep because of this new enthusiasm.  But now begins a weekend where I do not have to get up at crazy early hours for the first time in a long time.  I may even sleep in until - gasp - 7am.  I try to aim beyond that sometimes, but for a 5:30am-er, that really is sleeping!

So last night I wanted to break away from my usual warm weather comforts of soups and sauces and risottos.  I had some sweet potatoes that were begging to be used.  So I cut them up and put them in a roasting dish.  Then the wheels began to turn.  I wanted a bit of colour, I wanted a bit of contrast from sweet, but please people, I am not Southern enough to start reaching for the marshmallows.  But a tart, crisp Green apple?  Yes please.  Olive oil, salt, pepper.  Pre cooking.

Are the colours not lovely?  And the smell would have been homey, if it were not for some sauerkraut that I was roasting on the stovetop to accompany.  I love me some sauerkraut, but I am sure my neighbours do not love me for making the building smell like old socks.

Once the taters were good and crispy and the apples were good and melty, I tossed them in a bowl with some walnuts and spooned the sauerkraut overtop.  Germans have apples and potatoes and they have sauerkraut and potatoes - we just have a new partnership here.

Belly happy.

Have a great weekend.

Three Kings Day

A warning: I am moving away from this blog in the next couple of months (around my one year "blogaversary").  My life is moving in some new exciting directions and I think in April or May I will start a new blog to supplement that.  This blog was all about trying to think and cook positively throughout a downtrodden time.  It certainly helped on some of my harder days - sometimes putting your thoughts into the Universe really does work.

I work near a airplane/engineering training grounds, so I constantly hear jets whizzing past.  What a lovely sound!

I digress.  Yesterday was Epiphany, or Three Kings Day. Traditionally it marks the day when the three kings presented their gifts to the baby Jesus.  And as we know, the Swiss don't like going to church, but they certainly like their religious days and traditions.

So how does one appropriately celebrate?  Well, with a sweetened bread/cake.  I actually received one in the morning from a stranger who pulled it out of a big paper bag.  As I did not know the tradition, I stayed away from the "accept candy from strangers" rule and promptly got rid of it.  Then I realized that I had had the opportunity to become "queen for a day" and was saddened.

So here is what you do.  You buy the available for three days only "Konigskuchen" (chocolate, sugar, white bread - goodbye New Years resolutions!).  You pull off pieces carefully.  If you have a baby Jesus in your piece (yes, this is disturbing, but go with it) then you can take the crown that accompanies the cake (the source of much amusement for children, let me tell you) and you can put it on your head and gloat and boss around everyone.  It looks a little like the Burger King crown from the 80s.  But as you can tell, it has oh so much power.

Sadly, even with my pawing through sweetened white bread, the crown was not mine.  Boo. 

Pickles, pickles everywhere (and not a drop to drink)?

Eventful yet again.  These journeys back to Switzerland certainly ensure that I am not an emotional wreck upon leaving Toronto.  It began with some drug sniffing hounds and crazy amounts of security as we boarded the plane for Amsterdam.  They looked at each and every one of us suspiciously as if it were merely inevitable that we were carrying copious amounts of pot.  I nervously eyed my bag of dried kale, certain that it looked a little too close to a plant I am sure they were trying to avoid on the plane.  Alas, I got through.  Upon landing with my typically rough stomach, I found myself in a line for one hour just to catch my connection.  At these moments, I am sure my basic expression is one that is completely nonapproachable.  The whole idea of smiling is exhausting.  But luckily, I have seen every European airport more times than I can count, so I can do the whole thing in my sleep.  Literally. 

My second flight I was dead asleep after attempting to read one sentence.  The stewardess woke me up to ask if I wanted crackers.  Um, lady?  Was that really worth awakening me from my beauty sleep?  I woke up again when the plane hit the ground and then walked in a deep dark haze to get to my bag.  I was certain it was not the wet mess, slightly open, that tumbled out of the baggage claim.  Uh-oh.  Is that pickle juice?  The thing I joked might happen did in fact.  And even worse, an ugly pair of underwear was peaking its way out of the top of the suitcase.

I tried to act surprised yet dignified as I shoved my things inside and walked through the airport reeking of pickle juice.  A train, a walk and suddenly I actually found myself in my apartment.  My beautiful apartment with the best view, which luckily was giving me one of the few ice and rainless days ever.  The Christmas lights were still in full bloom, the shops were still closed, and I, my friends was safe and sound and surprisingly awake.  Even better...those pickles made the BEST welcome home snack.  Worth every embarasssing drop.