I love bread. There. I said it out loud. I LOVE BREAD! I guess I am a carbaholic because I also love pasta and potatoes. All carbs. All things that I love and could not live without. And I could quite happily enjoy all three together at the same time. I am not sure what that says about me really. I guess that I am a simple person with simple tastes, wants, needs?
My sister and I stopped at a small French Bakery in Kingston yesterday on our way to the Farmer's market. It's called Marie et Guy's. Tis a very humble place with a wooden screen door. A warehouse actually. Just one huge open room. When you go in you often see Guy or Marie at work kneading dough or some such. It's just them. There are no workers. Not that I have ever seen.
But their bread is fabulous. Everything they make is fabulous. Their cabinets are filled with fresh baked daily breads and pastries, all made by hand with organic ingredients, and I can't help but make a pig of myself. Yesterday I bought a sourdough baguette, a country loaf, four Breton cookies (with jam) a package of Biscotti and a Lemon Brioche bun. And there's just me in my house.
Oh, I am so bad . . .
Guess what I had for lunch and supper. I was going to have a bowl of chili with some bread for my supper, but I skipped the chili and just had butter and jam. And I was in heaven. If it sounds better, I did have a salad for lunch. (And the lemon bun). But to be fair, I had to eat the bun while it was still fresh, or it would have been a waste of money. 👀 I do hate waste. And I can't resist a good bun.
The Pierce Family Farm Market just the other side of Aylesford was our destination. They have about the widest array of Winter squash and pumpkins I have ever seen, and all very good quality. It is just a small market. You walk inside and it smells just like a good farm market should smell this time of year. Like autumn and apples. I picked up three kinds of squash. A couple of sweet dumplings, a Hubbard and a larger one that I forget the name. I want to say kabocha, but I don't know for sure. I could have quite happily bought one of each kind of squash they had just to try them out.
Funny that. When I was a child, I did not care for squash. Or maybe I just didn't care for the way my mother cooked it. It was always bland and watery. As an adult I could sit down and eat a plate of it and nothing else at all and be quite happy. My sister cooked some sweet dumplings on Sunday and they were soooooooooooooooooooooooooo delicious! Just cooked and mashed, nothing added. When something tastes that good in its natural state there is no need to add anything else. No salt. No butter. Nothing. Just the squash.
They had the best corn earlier this year. I did imbibe. In fact, I ate corn on the cob every chance I could. I guess I was making up for all those years in the UK and the fact that there was no good corn on the cob to be had there. If a person could figure out how to grow good corn on the cob over there, they would make a fortune. Any corn I ever had the misfortune to eat over there either came from Kenya or tasted like cow corn, which is what we call the corn here that is grown for animal feed. It's not their fault. Their climate is too wet.
The fields here are full of it now, cow corn . . . turning yellow and brown and dry, ready to be mown down and popped into the corn cribs so that the animals have something to eat all Winter.
I wish I could bottle the smell of the apples in this farm market. It was such a wonderful smell. If you ever get a chance to go to this market, I highly recommend. It's the best.
I can't believe that here we are already staring the face of October in the eye. It seems to have happened so fast. I was saying to my sister yesterday as we were driving down the road, looking at all the colors of the changing leaves, how quickly Autumn seems to have taken hold. She said, yes, it happened literally overnight. One day it was Summer and the next it was Autumn. It happens on the same day every year. She does make me laugh. I think being able to laugh is very good for the soul and adds years to your life. Well, maybe not years, but . . . you know what I mean, I am sure.
My mother was very superstitious. She had a superstition for just about everything including spilling salt. If she saw one crow, she would pray to see another and another until good luck had returned. God forbid a bird should hit our window and die. If you dropped a piece of cutlery you were going to get a visitor, the gender depending on the piece of cutlery you had dropped. Knives and spoons bring pantaloons, and forks bring gentle ladies. An itchy nose meant you were going to kiss a fool. An itchy palm meant money was due. You had to scratch it on wood to make sure that it was a tidy sum, or the money would be lost. If you put your clothing on inside-out, you had to wear it that way all day lest you invite bad luck into your life, etc.
We had a deck of cards in the house, but they were used for only one thing. Fortune telling. We were forbidden to touch them. Ever notice that an old deck of cards has a peculiar smell? They smell like every pair of hands that has ever touched them I suppose . . .
I used to love to open my father's top dresser drawer and sniff it. (Yes, I was a peculiar child.) It smelled like cork grease for his clarinet and leather from his wallet, and the butterscotch wafers he kept hidden there. He doesn't remember that, but it is clear in my mind.
It was forbidden for us to even go into our parents' bedroom so don't ask me why I was in there. I was probably en route to the open bags of potato chips that my mother kept hidden behind my father's dresser. They were only to be eaten during Saturday night hockey games on the television. We would each be given a small (and I mean small) bowl of them. We used to sneak a chip or two when afforded the opportunity during the week.
I am sure my mother noticed them disappearing because we all did it, but if she did, she never said. My mother was very tight with the pennies. Nothing missed her observations. We were really only cheating ourselves because less in the bag meant less for Saturday night. But I can attest to the fact that sneaky chips taste better than the regular ones.
Well, I am out for supper with my dad tonight and his two lady friends. I have a bit of puttering about to do here today. The sun is shining. All is well. Tomorrow, I have to take my car to have it cleaned. God willing it will actually get done this week! I also need to phone to make an appointment to have my winter tires put on. Hardly seems possible it is that time again.
And with that I best leave you with a thought for the day . . .
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And I do too!
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