Author Archives: nidulari

Have we lost the concept of “rest” in modern (Western) society? Have we, as a people, lost sight of the importance of giving our bodies and minds the time they need to heal, to process: to sleep? Is it not ingrained in our culture that we must do, must think, must act in every waking moment? That time spent not doing something is time wasted, time lost?

Honestly, the “holidays” leave me exhausted. It’s how it’s always been: bustling around non-stop for weeks, trying to make everything perfect, trying to be a great guest, a great host, to cook exceptional things, to make everything shiny and tidy, to make everyone happy and smiling and drunk but not too drunk…
I’m not saying that it’s not fun, but it certainly is exhausting. Each year, by the time the New Year is approaching, I find myself wondering “but when is the time to sleep? To rest? To do nothing but to be present in oneself, to oneself? To be still, without the guilt of not doing something. To not think. Where is the time to simply be?”

I find myself very conscious of the fact that I can literally work and/or worry myself sick. It’s worse since the 8 months of Chickengunya, but it was bound to happen someday. I have honed my body and mind to ignore every signal that I need to just stop. There is always one more thing that needs to be done. A whole list of things that I’d like to do. And still more things that I know other people feel that I should be doing. It’s so easy to say “I have to do…” and to push through from one task to the next…to sleep less rather than to disappoint…to choose accomplishment over health. I’m convinced that this is a common affliction, for what I hear from many people, when asked how they are, is “busy” “tired” “exhausted””looking forward to…[rest]””struggling”. When will we all realize that no matter how many hours there are in a day, we will still manage to fill them, to be “busy”, that we still will not “have time” to rest, to be present to one another, to be at peace with ourselves? When will we push back against the idea that to be constantly “busy” is a requirement to a successful (and thereby happy) life?

I do not know where I’m headed in life. I don’t know what the next year, or five, will hold in store. I do, however, know that this realization of the importance of rest, reflection, inner peace…however you wish to think of it…is an important part of my journey here, of the way of life that I’ve chosen: surrounded by living, breathing, peaceful things. I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I hold a strong belief against setting oneself up for certain failure and disappointment. However, I do hope that in the coming year, in my life going forwards, that I will make time. That I will be present. That I will find peace, somewhere deep within myself. That others might do the same. That one day, when someone asks how I am, I might respond “Peaceful.” or “Content.”, and that I might hear the same response from another.

With that, my friends, I leave you until next year. May you all find what you seek, and may what you seek be truly what you need.

It’s the time of year of reflections, reminiscing, and embarrassing childhood stories coming out at the worst possible moments…

s/v Ushuaia, “home” for some 11 years of my life; a somewhat tiny space.

In my family, however, this has always been the start of a month-or-so long “mid-winter food festival”, only slightly shadowed by Christmas decor and the occasional disastrous trip to the grocery store amid Christmas carols by country singers. Still…living in a tiny space, surreptitiously making hand-made gifts, bumping into tinsel and age-old ornaments at every turn…it really all comes down to the food. Did you know that you can make mincemeat, Christmas pudding, full-sized turkeys, and every fixing imaginable whilst living on a 50′ boat with no electricity and a family of four? Whilst baking holiday cookies every week throughout the month of December…and a Pingu-themed birthday cake to boot? Don’t forget the mince pies, steamed chocolate pudding, and chocolate salami…

Perhaps my Mother was just a Christmas-time overachiever in those years, but the food side of it certainly rubbed off. Still, I’m not here to brag, but to give you the best gift I can to help you through this sometimes-daunting culinary season. What better gift to give than some words of wisdom on cooking your winter fare, to make the most of what you have?

Growing up, I was the baker in the family. For cookies, cakes, pies, and breads, I was called upon - especially anything to do with pastry. Now, pastry isn’t that difficult, it just needs to be made with love. Umm…that sounded a bit too hippy for me. Pastry needs a gentle yet confident touch: be too rough, and you may as well eat old boots: work too slowly, you’ll have cardboard. With unbleached flour, really cold butter, and a goodly amount of crisco (or lard, if you’re of that persuasion), it’s hard to go too wrong. For a fancier tart pastry, consider something as follows. For the pie fillings, cakes, and cookies, spruce up traditional flavors a bit with a touch of rum, bourbon, or your favourite liqour.

Merryn’s Rye Tart Pastry
makes 1 9″ tart

1 cup unbleached white flour
1/2 cup pumpernickel rye flour
3 tablespoons sugar1/4 cup very cold butter, cubed to 1/4″
1/4 cup crisco, room temp
2 tablespoons cold water

In a bowl, combine the flours, sugar, and 1/4 teaspoon of salt. With clean, cool hands (using only your fingertips), gently rub the butter into the dry mix. The butter should stay in large flakes, not be broken into crumbs. With a fork, gently mix in the crisco, and add just enough water to make a soft, slightly sticky dough. Do not over mix at this stage! You can use your hand to get the crumbs together by folding the dough over itself once or twice, very gently. Now refrigerate the dough for at least 30min before rolling it out with a generous amount of flour.

Is it really worth the extra expense and trouble to obtain unbleached flour? Absolutely. I didn’t grow up with unbleached flour, and I confess, I’ve only recently switched entirely over to it, yet all it takes is one good sniff of fresh, unbleached flour to convince you. Just try it. Just once. I won’t go into the rant on how unbleached should be cheaper, not more expensive, due to being less processed…

So there you have it: a more-or-less foolproof recipe for you pie shells: but what about all the rest of that cooking? I’m not going to give you a recipe here, but rather a concept. You know the old college-student concept of boil pasta…drain…pour ketchup over it, and call it a meal? Well…um…I see too much of that going on in the adult world. Perhaps not so extreme, but the trend seems to be to cook something, and then to try to add flavour to it. You’re doing it all backwards, my poor innocent people! The popularity of brining turkeys gave me hope…briefly. Alas, the concept hasn’t traveled to the other vast regions of culinary reach. Have you figured out what I’m talking about yet? No? Ok…the thing is…food has to start tasty, or it never will be. It’s all very well to add some salt and pepper at the end, but that should just be the finishing touch. All the depth of flavour should have been in the dish since the first 5-10 minutes of cooking it: after that, you’ll be adding lurid overtones, not subtle undertones. So how should you be cooking your savoury dishes, you ask?

My go-to trifecta of ingredients for any deeply savoury dish–from beans to pasta sauce to chicken soup–are garlic, ginger, and onion. Whole black pepper and brown mustard seed are my other must-haves for a satisfactory dish. The method is easy, and pretty much every dish starts the same way: heat up a little oil in a pan, add a pinch of whole black pepper, and pinch of mustard seed (a chili too, if heat is desired), sauteé your finely chopped ginger and garlic for a minute, then add your diced, chopped, or sliced onion and a pinch of salt, cooking for a few more minutes. Then you’re ready to add your other ingredients in a logical order: spices, aromatic herbs, dry ingredients (meat, potato, carrot, etc), wet ingredients (tomato, peppers, etc), and finally liquids (water, stock, etc). Make sure you taste, and sniff,as you go. Let dishes simmer for a little while to combine the flavours - add delicate ingredients (leafy greens, green beans, fragile herbs) at the very end so they don’t become slimy.

Don’t be afraid to cook dishes ahead of time: flavours meld over time, and many dishes actually improve after sitting for a few hours or even overnight. All of your sauces, most of your soups, any stew, and all curries (within reason) will easily take being prepared ahead of time and re-heated (in a covered serving dish in the oven saves time and stress). Finally, don’t be scared of your spice rack! First, make sure nothing in it is more than a year or so old (spices lose flavour over time), then experiment! Some under-used spices in Western savoury dishes include cloves, cardamom, and cinnamon. All add lots of depth to winter dishes, rounding out flavours of pumpkin, potatoes, beets, red wine, beef, and more. Ginger, citrus zest, and paprika all add a certain brightness sometimes lacking in heavier winter foods.

Most of all, have fun! Don’t get all stressed out about cooking something ridiculously fancy (unless you really want to); a good meal (or dish) doesn’t have to have 42 ingredients all rinsed in virgin’s tears…it just needs to be fresh, flavourful, and (maybe) a little bit healthy. Don’t be that person who has to have every single ingredient in order to try a new recipe, take the time to play. Don’t be me, and decide to make a batch of 200 cookies, in the rain - be sensible. Happy cooking, and may you find your very own flavour of magic this season.

Do you have any crucial cooking tips? Feel free to share in the comments below.

To follow up my last post: here’s what a tiny house looks like once it’s been inhabited for a while. I lay no claims to tidiness, but it’s a happy little home.

They’ll tell you it’s a love-it or hate-it lifestyle. That tiny houses are cheap. That tiny houses are expensive. That no-one can live in one without going crazy. That everyone will be living in them soon. That it’s the green way to go. That it’s a ridiculous concept and we should all build (and live in) McMansions. That tiny houses will save the world. That the world can’t be saved. That you’ll never find somewhere to build one. That you can build one anywhere. That they must be on wheels. That you can only have 52 possessions including your socks.

The truth is - my truth is - that living in a tiny house is just like living in any other dwelling. Yes, you get bored with the color of the walls. You get frustrated at how much cleaning there is to do. You wonder if a “real” house would have as many bugs, as much dust, as little storage space for those things you need but don’t use every day. You sometimes wonder if it’s feasible to start a project, because it’s going to take up your entire living space, and the dog might walk across it. You have those days when it’s been raining all day and the laundry won’t dry and there’s no space to hang it inside. You have a compost toilet that has to be emptied every week, and sometimes you don’t feel like doing so, but you have to or you can’t pee. And sometimes you hesitate to invite people over to your home, because you’re not sure what they’ll make of it, or because if it starts raining you know you’ll all be packed in like sardines in a can.

With all that, it’s “home”. It’s comfortable - except when the roof leaks. It’s unique. It’s a ceiling to stare up at in the middle of the night and think “I made this; this is mine; this is my place of peace, my place of creation, my place of belonging”. When it comes time to cook dinner, everything is within reach, and fresh greens and herbs are only 6 steps away, just outside the (always open) door. To sweep the floor takes under five minutes. Heating water on the stove on a chilly evening makes a bath seem luxurious, intentional, caring - in a way that turning a tap on does not. On the practical side of things, it’s impossible to lose anything in 200 square feet of space. It’s really easy to say “I don’t actually need that” when you consider that you’d have to find space for a new item. And it’s cheap - in my case. For under $3,000 of material costs (spread over a year) and 6 months of full-time building with continued part-time work (there are always more little details to play with - it’s part of the joy of building your own home), I’ve created a home in which I’ve now been living for just about a year. That’s only $250/month…and nothing going forwards apart from maintenance and minor improvements as needed/desired!

Now, I’m not saying it’s for everyone. I was fortunate to already have land available to build upon, with a supporting infrastructure (water and power from a nearby building, use of tools, etc). I started with a sound working knowledge of basic construction techniques, experience with tools of all kinds, and a clear vision of what I wanted to create. I learned a lot during the build, I made mistakes (some I must live with, like a 6’1″ doorway),and there are some things that I’d do very differently a second time (cement roof: not such a great idea). I live “off the beaten track”, and chose not to do a “documented” build. I chose to live with only as much electricity as a single light-duty line can supply. I chose to take a risk, to put all I had into living “tiny”, into following a notion that life this way might be “better”. Or at least different. And so it is. Very “different”, and yet…the same. Life is still the same, with all the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’m not changing the world. I’m not working wonders in all my supposed free time. I’m not special: I just choose to live in a very small, very oddly-shaped house.

But I chose this all. And I hear the birds every morning, and the frogs every night. Do you?

Perhaps the following is not what you came to my blog to read, but in light of the past week’s global events I cannot bring myself to banter on light-heartedly about tasty food and trivial challenges. Entrenched in the weeks between Veterans Day - a recognition of those who have fought for the U.S. - and Thanksgiving - an immigrant’s celebration of prosperity in a new land - it seems only appropriate to wish, and hope, for a more peaceful global future.

The world seems a cruel place, and we humans a cruel species; driven by greed, power, and revenge - mindless of the tragedies procured. Are we [humans] innately incapable of peace and sharing? Or have too many people merely lost their grounding? Have people spent too long without awakening to birdsong, without standing, barefoot, in moist soil, truly feeling the earth below their feet, breathing in the gentle air around them, hearing the trees sigh? Have they forgotten that their breakfast started as tiny seedlings; fragile; so easily trampled by a soldier’s boot, yet instead nurtured to grow, nurtured by a gentle one: a farmer? Have they forgotten that they once looked up, mesmerized by the vast heavens, and felt so small, so insignificant in this vast universe?

It’s an insane state of affairs, that with so many tragedies in the world people fight over which one is getting more attention in the news. How does it end?

I have no answers, no way to help the millions of people affected by tragedy every day around the world. I can only propose finding a place of peace. That place is different for every person: for me, it’s my garden; fish drifting in the pond, plants clustered around, chickens resting in the morning sun, the very world breathing around me. Once you find that place, open your heart. To the people you know, and to the people you’ve never met: refugees, immigrants, people of different skin-tones, faiths, or customs. To people around the world who struggle to feed their children. People who’s lands and livelihoods have been taken from them. People who fear that they will never see their loved ones again. People who walk in fear each day, feeling that their country is not their own. Any one of those people could be you, so think deeply before declaring that they don’t deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect that you would ask for yourself. Think deeply before saying that they shouldn’t receive whatever aid, assistance, or welcome that a country may be able to offer them. Think deeply before pointing fingers, before implying that these unfortunate souls might be the cause of tragic events in the place they have fled to, the place in which their only hope is to build a new and safer life.

May we all find ways to open our hearts, and to not look the other way when asked for help, for mercy, and for acceptance.

Sometimes, in my life, a Monday is a Sunday. That’s not to say I don’t do anything; just my time is my own, and that’s a really great feeling. After a morning rain prevented any potential roof-painting, I’ve settled into marmalade making. A handful of the half-grown chickens are wandering around “trimming” grass and de-bugging the yard, Juno has found a shady spot, and heavenly aromas of oranges and ginger are wafting from the stove. The trees, lush from a week of rain, barely stir in the light breeze, and the sky is a true Caribbean blue with light wisps of cloud drifting Northward.

Life is good.

Over the weekend I had the company of two sweet foster puppies, who still need a forever home! Coco and Princess are sisters, about 12 weeks old; they are wormed, have had their first shots, and will soon be spayed. They’ve been great with cats, dogs, and even the chickens (poor Coco got pecked on the nose by my rooster, lesson learned) and would do great in a home with plenty of space to run around and/or lots of walks and playtime. Juno was very patient, and ever let them play with her favourite purple squeaky ball.

With some weather-related down time, I’ve been working on some new products: caraway rye bread is back! As I’m now buying rye flour in bulk (50lb bag), if you need rye flour let me know and we can work out a deal. Same goes for oats. Winter is here, so it’s time for some soups! My first “soup of the week” is a Spicy Ginger Carrot soup, available this Wednesday along with your bread. I’ll plan on doing a different soup every few weeks, so be sure to check the Nidulari Facebook page for weekly menu updates. I just got in some natural cotton drawstring bags, which may be used as bread bags or as gift bags! The paper bread bags will now be hand stamped rather than having a printed label - just one more way to be green!

If you aren’t able to get to the Wednesday market stands, don’t forget that I’ll be at Starving Artists day at the Whim Museum on November 29th so that you can do all your holiday shopping in one place. For those of you who live afar, I can ship via Priority Mail Flat-rate boxes - the most timely and economical shipping method from here to the mainland - at your expense. Please allow at least 1 week shipping time.

See y’all on Wednesday! Cheers!

I’m reminded today of how the Caribbean never ceases to amaze and enthrall, with its fickle summertime weather and sudden flashes of serenity.

During a Sunday morning jaunt around Frederiksted - the small, sleepy, seaside town a mile away, brought somewhat to life for the sake of a visiting cruise ship - in search of an iced coffee and some socialization for Juno (loyal canine companion), I barely glanced at the heavy rain clouds amassing along the hilltops inland. Continuing our amble through the town - stopping at frequent intervals for Juno to declare her love to every passerby and canine-deprived tourist - along the waterfront, the water clear and calm, perusing several small stores, chatting with friends and assisting lost tourists…finally settling in the bustling courtyard of Polly’s to sip on an iced mocha…the sun shone. Upon the tourists, the vendors selling jewelry, nick-knacks, and t-shirts, upon the group of five stray dogs who ducked into an alleyway, upon the rooster sauntering down Strand Street, upon the historic buildings, their facades faded to pastel hues, the sun shone.

Just a mile away there existed an entirely different world. A world where the plants reached up to meet raindrops, few at first, large, heavy drops, rapidly becoming an impenetrable tropical downfall. Roots swelled beneath the soil, drinking in the rains until–the thirst of a drought-ridden year quenched–they let the water go, running first in rivulets, then streams, down every slope, into every gully, rushing, rushing towards the sea.

The mongoose pokes out his nose, from the dry shelter of a massive fallen tree. He sniffs the air, taking in the fresh new world. There will be good hunting today, as the small critters abandon their burrows, sipping raindrops from fallen leaves, drying their wings in now-gentle sunlight.