Add Fat. Add Salt. Turn Up the Heat!

This summer we had a party for my parent’s 40th wedding anniversary. Quite a few members of the family finally came to see what the Yukon was all about (after 30 years!!). At one point in time, I think there was seventeen people staying on or using my parent’s property.

Mum and Dad moved themselves into their camping trailer. They borrowed a tent trailer from Betrand and Therese and Nat, Darryl, and Chantel slept in that. Jorden and Jesse slept outside in a tent. Aunt Phyl, Aunt Barb, Aunt Midge, and myself all slept on the second floor of my parent’s two-story cabin. Uncle Bob and Aunt Ann slept in Mum and Dad’s room (downstairs). Redd, Jim, and Jim’s folks slept at the Flemming’s for the first few days.

We all ate together though. It was a big family affair. If you know my family–when we all get together–it’s all about food and feeding everybody. When one meal is over, we just start making the next. We even kicked Mum out of her own kitchen and took it over. Initially, she wasn’t too happy, but she got over it.

Mum wanted to have a special family meal the Friday everybody arrived. That Friday during the day, we sent Dad off on an errand and Mum off with her relatives to show them the town. Nat and I stayed home and cooked for the party the next day as well as the big family meal that night.

All day long. Chop. Cook. Clean. Chop. Cook. Clean. Chop. Cook. Clean. When it came to making dinner, I wanted to make my famous roasted potatoes. I started off by scrubbing all the dirt off each one. I think there were twenty in total. Then, chop, chop, chop into wedges. Toss in olive oil. Liberally sprinkle on some Montreal Steak Spice. Add freshly chopped rosemary. Bake in the oven. Incredibley simple. Really tasty.

I normally only do this recipe for one or two potatoes–never twenty. They weren’t baking fast enough. Everything else was ready: the BBQ, the salads, the desserts. We were all hungry but still waiting for the potatoes. And waiting. And waiting. I asked my aunts what I could do to make them cook faster. They said: Turn up the heat. I laughed and told them about how our German roommate made really incredibly tasty meals. His secret was add fat and salt. So. I told them, the secret to cooking for 17 or more people was: Add fat. Add salt. Turn up the heat!!

This phrase became the tag line for the whole holiday and, now, I think it is the secret recipe for a happy life:

How do you cook for 17 or more people? Add fat. Add salt. Turn up the heat.

If you are asked to comment on your holiday in the guest book at the visitor’s information centre in Dawson City, Yukon on a rather blustery, cloudy, misty day, what would you say? Add fat. Add salt. Turn up the heat!

How do you make a 40-year marriage work? Add fat. Add salt. Turn up the heat!

Je n’aime pas manger les preservatifs

When I was a nanny in France, I had to spend the first few weeks adjusting to the new language. My French was very, very basic when I arrived. However, I discovered that with many words, I could say them in English with a bit of a French accent–and they meant the same thing.

For any word ending in -tion, for example, just add the French accent and voila! A new word for your vocabulary. Conversation is conversation with the French accent. Conservative is conservatif. Preservation is preservation. And so on.

One day, Madame Andoka (my host family’s mother) asked me what I liked to eat so she could shop accordingly. I said that I like anything. I prefer things fresh though. Fresh fruits and vegetables. Fresh meats and dairy. I would rather eat fresh than prefab meals. I just don’t like the chemicals and preservatives. I told her: Je n’aime pas manger les preservatifs. She looked at me with raised eyebrows and sort of smirked. Apparently I had just stated, rather matter-of-factly: “I don’t like to eat condoms.”

Ruminations on Root Vegetables

Last night I bought some root vegetables to make soup–root vegetable soup with turkey. Wholesome. Nutritious. That was the plan anyway. I bought four red potatoes, a turnip (or I call it a turnip–people here in the States call it a rutabaga), a parsnip, and an onion. I already had celery and carrots. That’s it. Just chop them up, put them in a pot, add fat, add salt, and turn up the heat.

What is a parsnip anyway? How would you describe a parsnip? Is it a white carrot? Is it an albino carrot? I have red hair. When I was younger, I used to get called carrot top. If I bleached my hair, will they call me parsnip head? Or turnip top?