blogthecat

Envy

Do you ever look at someone and go, “I want to trade?” Like, “I want to look like that person and have everything they have. It looks so easy and nice. I want to shed all my crappy bits and forget I ever had them.” That sort of thing? I do sometimes, and I did today at, surprise, Meinhardt’s, that den of inequity and upturned noses I go to every day because I'm lazy (it's around the corner).

I saw this woman, about my age, with her daughter, about seven, waiting at the deli just like me and Oliver. They were basically wearing matching outfits, which sounds like loserville, but at that moment it wasn’t. Poofy short black skirts, tanks, and thin cream cardigans, all of the finest material. Willowy frames. Clothes hanging just so. Expensive gladiator sandals. Mom with black toe polish, girl with red. Perfectly messed but elegant ponytails. Delicate, refined faces only kissed by the sun.

Awed and impressed, I blurted out: “Did you guys just get your toes done today?”

It was probably only a second before the mom responded, but it felt like an eternity, maybe because of the coolness of her gaze. “No, it’s been a while.” It wasn’t mean, but it wasn’t kindly either. She might have been having a bad day. Maybe "guys" was the wrong word.

I do know that I didn’t want to be her anymore. I looked down at my always slightly disheveled self and then further at Oliver’s complete messiness (at all times at least one of: crazy hair, belly popping out, drool strands, food debris, or boogers) and I knew we made people smile. People talk to us constantly. People laugh with us, they open doors for us, and they pick up after us when we drop our belongings everywhere. They might not want to be us, but we’ll take what we've got. It’s a lot.

Regression

Over the months, Craig and I have taken to calling Oliver “Oliver” about one-twentieth of the time we address him. This is unsurprising, as Craig calls me “Kiley” about one time in 50, and I call him “Craig” about half that much (depending on how much trouble he’s in—“Craig” is almost always delivered in a serious tone, and it makes him snap nervously to attention—if you think that’s tyrannical, please note that Craig whistles for me as to a dog in public places and I whip around immediately). All to say that we are extreme nicknamers and it’s no shock that we would continue the tradition with Oliver.

So far Oliver has acquired:

• Mr Moo
• Mr O
• O
• Ooonu
• Moom
• Meem
• Mee-moo
• Gomer
• Gomey-gome
• Gome
• Homard
• Boy boy
• Little man
• Leedle leedle (as in l’il l’il, the short form of little little)
• Doodle
• Mpopo

I’ve been a bit worried that we’re in the process of confusing wee O about his real name—that we’re upsetting some crucial building block in language acquisition. But I did some Internet research and was greatly relieved by what I found on the Linguistic Society of America website:

“Children acquire language quickly, easily, and without effort or formal teaching. It happens automatically, whether their parents try to teach them or not.”

I’m glad to hear Oliver won’t be totally dependent on us to learn words, because I am losing my own by the bucketful each day. Pointing at things and grunting can be remarkably effective. And it turns out salad is a great finger food.

Sleep, blessed sleep, I shall lay claim to you again one day …

Etymological concerns

OMG it hurts when your baby bites your nipple! I’ve been waiting for Oliver to do it, having heard other mothers talk about it, but nothing prepares you for the clamping down of two razor-like teeth on intensely sensitive skin. Thankfully, I had read about what not to do: scream bloody murder at the top of your lungs and whack baby’s head until he lets go—which is precisely what it feels like you must do to stop the blinding pain. No, there is a better option: draw baby’s head in until your boob surrounds his nostrils and he must release to breathe. I don’t know if I can say I so much drew Oliver’s head in as buried it deep, fast, and with feeling into my boob.

He did release. Then he did it again. This time after I smothered him, he actually looked up at me and grinned. A new game. Oh no!

p.s. Is that where the word "nip" comes from? I don't doubt the action could have prompted a new word.

Learning on the fly

Let me begin this one by admitting that Craig and I fit the mold of first-time, older parents to a T.  We’ve read all the de rigueur parenting books. We get mushy over anything organic and can’t wait to register for signing class. We visit the alternative pharmacy to stock up on breastfeeding tinctures and teething relievers. We persist in reading earnestly to the young prince though his only interest is in eating the pages. That’s just a sampling of our state right now.

My mom (and various others of her generation who shan't be named) tries to bear with us as we fall over ourselves trying to please this baby via the trends du jour. Sometimes she agrees with us, sometimes she laughs at us, and sometimes she longs to steal Oliver away to save him from his crazy, protective parents. She would have been crowing triumphantly had she been with us at about 5 pm yesterday.

Despite its being an FFD (Family Fun Day—a day when Craig, Oliver and I spend the whole day together hanging out), Oliver’s mood took a sharp downward turn about ten minutes into a stroll down 4th Avenue in Kits. Not a huge fan of the stroller even on his best days, Oliver seemed especially put out on this particular occasion. Craig and I stopped a zillion times, made silly expressions, launched new toys into his already crowded compartment, and cooed maniacally. Nothing worked. His face was locked in a sullen expression, he practiced a perma-whine, and every couple of minutes a torrent of sputtering and spitting bubbled forth from his little mouth.

“What IS it?” we asked each other. “What could it POSSIBLY be?” After serious contemplation and debate, we settled on the likely culprit: a Developmental Milestone—a Cognitive Advancement. His brilliant baby brain was so bushed from its relentless processing of new inputs that it was affecting his mood. We wheeled that grumpy, Einsteinian boy down the street somewhat placated by our conclusion.

The whining took on a more threatening tone, however, and we decided to stop so we could have a beer and Oliver could be sprung from his stroller. We pulled Oliver out and sat him on the restaurant table. A powerful pong met our nostrils. Oliver looked up at us beseechingly. We looked at each other, horrified. We had been marinating the poor boy in his own poo. All down 4th. Mystery solved. No comments necessary, mom.

Closer to dog

I have never doubted the sacredness of animals, and now Conan the Japanese praying Chihuahua confirms my belief (see full story). His owner, monk Joei Yoshikuni, says it only took Conan a few days to imitate his praying posture. I wonder how long it's going to take Baizely to imitate my Craig's diaper changing routine? If a dog can replicate a posture, surely a cat can muster a more challenging feat ... That said, "can" and "will" are two entirely different things when it comes to cats ...

Disqualified

Craig and I went to our inaugural parenting class last night. Things started out hunky dory. We’re next to each other facing a circle of five other couples. In the middle is an exotic collection of candles and fertility ornaments. We drink red raspberry tea to tone our uteri. It is yummy. We present ourselves calmly to the crowd, and talk seriously about the words that have been placed in front of us on cards (“guidance” for me, “patience” for Craig). We are ready for this jelly.

At the end of the introductions, our guide announces it's time to show us the first video in a series that will help us prepare for labour. As she turns on the TV, she gets a box of Kleenex going around the circle. “It’s really beautiful—you’ll probably cry,” she cautions.

Craig describes the narrative arc of our video thusly:

Lady is about to have baby. At home.

Lady goes into early labour. Eats three plates of rice and beans.

Active labour begins.
Lady climbs in hot tub.
Hubby climbs in hot tub.
Young son stands butt naked by hot tub waiting for cue to jump in.

Lady pulls out baby from herself. Under water.
Baby is blue.
Son jumps in.
Much celebration.

Lady's father videotapes whole thing. Lady's father. Videotapes. Lady's water birth. Lady is daughter.

Video ends.

Some minor tears around the room. Someone offers, "She made that look so easy."

I am stock still, trying desperately to look unfazed. I can feel Craig peeking over at me to gauge my reaction. I’m in shock: four words threaten to spill screaming from my mouth as I run for the door: “Ceasarian!” “Epidural!” “General anesthetic!”

I chance a glance over at Craig. We begin shaking. Mercifully, breaktime is called. We run to the next room and inhale digestive cookies to mask our growing hysteria. Make it to a secluded corner. Collapse.
We are going to get kicked out of this class. Guaranteed.

Stimulating the senses

In my early twenties, I was a waitress at a fabulous bistro called Café Mika in Ottawa. I learned so many things at Mika: how to drag toothpicks through sugary glazes to make hearts; how to savour a bottle of high-end fumé blanc on which you’ve spent an entire night’s tips; how to harmonize Asian and western flavours into a fusion masterpiece; and how to make customers feel so special they won't only come back, they''ll tell a half-dozen other people about their experience.

Perhaps my favourite lesson at Mika was the art of writing food. Specifically, I was often charged with writing out the daily specials in cursive, as quickly as I could but not so fast that my script would lose form or elegance. Jude, Mika’s owner and chef extraordinaire, taught me how to compose mouth-watering menu descriptions. You knew you had hit it right when your stomach would grumble before you were finished writing.

There was no sitting around for the ingredients we listed: they had jobs to do, albeit pleasant ones. Tiger shrimp “nestled” into a heavenly sauce; filet mignon “basked” in an exotic reduction; and cilantro “mingled” with carrots and ginger. Just as important were adjectives: “crisped,” “smoked,” “seared,” ‘spiced,” “chipped,” “glazed” … The descriptions were specific and visual, with gorgeous syntax that foreshadowed how seriously the kitchen took the food they were about to prepare for you. At the same time, Jude taught me not to be pretentious—to let the words play with each other, just as the food would in the dishes she conjured up.

I’ve never come across a better menu writer than Jude, but the other night, I ate at a cute restaurant, Nyala (African), whose menu reminded me of how much fun I used to have writing food at Mika. Nyala’s menu—which is very silly—made me and my companions giggle, and had the effect of warming us up to the experience from the get-go. The staff kindly gave me a menu to take home when we left, so I’m going to excerpt a couple of the most charming entries.

Yeshimbera asa
Chickpea flour cakes awaken in a berbere sauce flavoured with onion, garlic and ginger leaving you breathless maybe, speechless possible, satisfied for certain.

Pinch me—PRAWNS?
Okay, you twisted our arms, let us now take this dish to the absolute limits of the universe bound only by the heavens and the size of your plate … piri-piri sauce will sing and tender prawns will dance to create this hypnotic moment in time.

Tofu stew
Tender morsels of tofu dress up in costumes of red pepper sauce, ginger, cardamom and garlic before coming to life on the stage we call your table.

You can't be in a bad mood after you've read Nyala's menu. By contrast, I'm often left unmoved and undecided when I read so many other restaurants' menus that rely to boring effect on the word “with” (e.g., salmon with red pepper vinaigrette, curry with lentils and cheese, etc., etc.). Why shortchange your kitchen with dreary writing? Menus can be powerful teasers that put your customers in the right frame of mind to enjoy your restaurant.

We had a wonderful time at Nyala: the food is great and our server was incredible … warm, attentive, happy to help us choose, and knowledgeable.

Nyala also provided me with memories of Mika, a place—or rather an experience—that will resonate with me my whole life. There’s just no telling where magic will turn up, but when it does, you know it’s there. Mika was magic.

Blank spots on the brain

No matter what your expertise, be it math, science, or wordsmithing, there are sometimes bits of knowledge in your supposed field that will always be a little harder to retain than others. At least there are for me. For example, there are certain words I always have to look at hard before I know I’ve spelled them correctly, like “Michael” (I always want to put the e before the a), “weird,” (the classic “i before e except …” issue), “exercise” and “exacerbate” (I always suspect a c should join any x, for some reason).

In any case, I’ve decided to excerpt (there’s that c) four choice tidbits from a section I like to put into the style guides we do for clients: common usage and grammar issues. I love compiling this section, since it hammers in some applications I might otherwise have to look up. You may find you totally know these rules already, but in case they’re tricky for you…

Affect vs. Effect
The verb affect means (a) influence or change, (b) stir emotions, or (c) feign. For example:

• Her attitude affected the outcome.
• His departure affected the staff.
• She affects a certain nonchalance.

The verb effect means accomplish or carry out. For example:

• They effected changes in the rules.

As a noun, effect—synonymous with result or consequence—is used far more often than affect. For example:

• One effect of the protest was new legislation.

The rarely used noun, affect, means emotional response or feeling. It’s used mainly in psychological or medical contexts.

Alternative vs. Alternate

As an adjective, both alternative and alternate can refer to a choice between two things or among more than two. For example:

• We have to choose an alternate/alternative route.

Only alternate can mean every second one. For example:

• They met on alternate Wednesdays.

When you need a noun to mean a choice between two options, use alternative. For example:

• There are six alternatives to choose from.

Comprise, Consist, Compose
Use comprise, composed of, or consists of as per the examples below. As Fowler’s notes, “The special function of comprise is to introduce a list of the parts making up the whole that is its subject; that is, it means to consist of or to be composed of. All the parts compose the whole; the whole comprises all the parts.” Therefore:

• The book comprises eight chapters.
• Milk, honey, and nutmeg compose the sauce.
• The sauce comprises milk, honey, and nutmeg.
• The committee was composed of nine representatives.
• The lesson consists of four sections.

Impact vs. Influence
Do not use impact as a verb; use influence or affect instead. Both impact and influence are fine as nouns. For example:

• The newspaper article will influence/affect the board’s decision.
• We have felt the impact of the budget cuts.
• She wielded her influence in the courtroom.

Writer, editor, and cartoonist Sarah Leavitt covers some more excellent grammar and usage conundrums (e.g., I or me) in her editing and copywriting category.

Sandwiches to die for

Everyone has them. Three to five meals or dishes they remember as the best of their lives. Without doubt, I savoured my most memorable meal sitting on a sidewalk curb in Rome with my dad and brother when I was about eight years old. We had been touring the city for hours and were absolutely famished. A little deli provided our salvation: marinated artichoke and tuna panini sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. I'll never forget sitting on that curb, the sun beating down upon us, enjoying each bite as if it were our last.

I have never replicated that sandwich, despite many attempts. However, I have discovered two other store-bought sandwiches within the last little while that have rocked my world.

Sandwich #1: The humble vegetarian
Ingredients: Untoasted multigrain; a thin spread of dijon mixed with mayo; greens of some sort (I think butter lettuce); mild cheddar cheese; avocado; cucumber; red onion; and tomato sprinkled with salt and pepper.
Location: Finch's Tea and Coffee House (pictured at top)
Reason for love-on: Fresh, fresh ingredients; a sandwich maker who took care and time with the assembly (I watched); a clean-looking deli area; a cute, funky dining space; and fun friends who put up with my repeated exclamations of ecstasy.

Sandwich #2: The simplest tuna
Ingredients: Untoasted whole wheat; a thin layer of iceberg lettuce (one per side of bread); and a perfect mixture of what I think was just tuna and mayo.
Location: Phoscao Cafe
Reason for love-on: Best use of iceberg lettuce EVER; ample but not unwieldy amount of tuna filling; soft yet firm bread; lovely owners who put 110% into everything they do.

Now, I could try to make these sandwiches myself. I think I could come close, but not all the way there. So I won't do it. There is something magical about these sandwiches as they are made from these two shops, and I don't want to tinker.

Still, there are lessons I will steal from my two special sandwich experiences:

1. Truly amazing food is made with love. More on that in posts to come.
2. Iceberg lettuce is perfect sandwich liner, especially for sandwiches with moist filling (it keeps the bread tender rather than soggy).
3. If you have just-baked bread, don'™t toast it for sandwiches.
4. Sometimes moderation is a good motto for what goes between your two slices. I have had a few mouth-watering full-to-bursting sandwiches, but often times they're just intimidating and messy.
5. Fresh makes the difference, every time.

Does anyone have a sandwich secret to share? An amazing meal to recount? Would love to hear from you on these most important topics.

p.s. Thanks, Monique, for introducing me to Finch's (we have to go back soon!). Both Finch'™s and Phoscao are must-tries.