Lost Childhood Foods

When I was growing up in Saskatchewan I used to go out with my dad and our dog named Lunar to the farms to deliver fuel. This is the way I'd be able to have impromptu play dates with my friends. The farm wives would hear the gas truck pull into the farm yard and they'd put the coffee on and dig out some kind of homemade treats for us. Farm wives had cupboards and freezers full of squares and cookies they could pull out at a moment's notice. Sometimes there'd be fresh baking or candy. I remember one neighbor used to make penuche, which is a delicious sweet, soft treat.

Once in a blue moon, we were served a pan of what was called "farmer's cheese." It was made in an 8 by 8 inch pan and cut into squares and it had a gelatinous "squidgy" texture that melted in your mouth. It was savory and buttery, like brie without the crust. I have never seen that cheese outside our community in Cactus Lake Sask. It may be a German treat, since most of the people who settled there were from that country. It is not the cheese many call "farmer's cheese" which is made from ricotta.

The CBC radio program called North by Northwest is doing a series on lost childhood foods, based on the success of their searches for lost childhood books. Do you have a food from childhood that you miss?

One other food I have never seen since my childhood is an ice cream treat we used to buy at the beach which was like a Revel, only in strawberry flavor with little cookie crumbs on the surface. I can't remember what it was called. I remember reaching for the ice cream and getting a shock from the cooler because I was still wet from swimming in the lake.

Growing Home

I've been telling everyone I know about this fabulous new grocery store in our neighborhood at Columbia and 18th. It's called The Home Grow-in Grocer. (No, that is not a typo btw.)

It's a little corner store that has had a few previous incarnations, such as a gallery and a yoga studio. What piqued my interest was an e-mail that let me know I could buy UBC Farm produce at this grocer. Well, I hopped on my bike and checked it out. Now I buy produce there as well as milk and gifts for my friends. Besides food products the owner sells locally made gifts such as cloth bags and soap with as much money as possible going right into the maker's pocket.

They also sell ice cream and the mango flavour is totally addictive. Last night it seemed every family I met on the way to the store was carrying a cup or cone of ice cream from the shop.

I mean look at this lovely garlic. What's not to like?

I heard a rumor that the owner might have a café here in the winter time. I hope it's true!

I will ask about their hours and post them here, but I think they're open until 8 pm most evenings. We are so lucky to have this place in our neighborhood. I wish them all the best.

Is it a Seahorse?

Representing MOPARRC (Means of Production Artists' Raw Resource Collective), I set up a community table at the Terminal Station Farmer's Market this Wednesday. I packed all manner of tricks into my rolling shopping bag, but of course forgot two essential items: my water bottle and my book. Turns out I didn't need a novel because the market provided its own steady stream of inspired wonderment. Turns out everyone and their dog, their baby and their bicycle comes to the market, which means it's become a big hit and it has infused new life into Thornton Park.

I was adjacent to the mushroom man (oh do you know the mushroom man?), the sprouts man, and the crêpe man, a trifecta of culinary delights. Sharon Kallis came by and created an installation on the sidewalk made of floral ephemera with the help of a ten-year-old artiste. A family of Italian tourists came by and had a lively discussion about what it represented. In the end there were two ideas: a dog or a sea horse. I also heard others who suggested dinosaur, dragon, and the continent of North America.

Parents were disappointed I was not the face painter who had appeared at the same table last week, but they were happy that their children could make messages for the bees, and soon became interested in what I was doing. We watched a bumble bee forage for pollen in the yellow blossoms of the ephemeral art piece. I saw several people I knew and invited them to stay awhile and have a chat. A young musician poured his heart into homespun ballads. All afternoon the mushroom man asked people passing by if they like mushrooms. Over and over he handed them paper bags of shitake and oyster mushrooms. I watched his stock get lower and lower as the day went on. A woman confided that the first day he'd worked the market he'd ended up with a lot of mushrooms left over. Now he's ramped up his sales pitch. (He also sells supplies for growing your own mushrooms. The guy just loves mushrooms and tells me to cook them without oil on low heat until they are just glistening. "When mushrooms are glistening, they are done." I do love a glistening mushroom!) The sunflower sprouts guy grows his greens at UBC farm and cycles them to the market. Many of his customers wore cycling helmets as well. I bought and savoured a banana and nutella crêpe.

As the sun goes down it paints the park with a soft glow. The train station is bathed in a golden light and the sun sets behind the skyscapers beyond the circle of memorial benches. One man sang his sad drunken songs of despair and a woman slipped silently through shoppers begging for change. "The mushroom man took all my money," my friend says. "He just asked what was left in my pockets and then handed me a bag of mushrooms." He was not taking "not enough money" for an answer. I respected his persistence, passion, and energy. He motioned me over and gave me a free bag of mushrooms and I bought one as well--tender baby shitakes.






I took a quick tour of the market and bought a bag of cape gooseberries from Klipper's Organic Acres and a chocolate pecan loaf from the Simple Pleasures lady. After a savoury crepe for my dinner, I was of out of cash myself. No sunflower sprouts for our salad. Darn! By the time the market was wrapping up I was sad it was over. A sense of camaraderie had just begun to develop. A couple of people asked if I'd be back next week. I kind of wish I was.