Phases

People always talk about pregnancy in terms of weeks and trimesters, even though the numbers don't really add up -- 40 weeks, three trimesters of 12 weeks each, does anyone see an addition problem here? Anyway, what we're beginning to see is that pregnancy is also made up of phases: the length, severity, and type of phase all depends on the woman involved.

For example:

• The Yogurt Phase
• The Wasabi Peas Phase
• The Melted-Cheese-On-Bread Phase
• The Potato Phase
• The Macaroni-and-Cheese Phase
• The Sweet Gherkin Phase
  
• The Yogurt-Covered Pretzel Phase
• The Cookie Phase (coincided, unfortunately, with Christmas and its abundance)
• The Hummus Phase
• The Japanese Rice Cracker Phase
• The Diet Ginger Ale Phase

These phases, obviously, can overlap. Symptoms of a phase approaching involve a sudden and overwhelming desire for a certain food item which can last for days or weeks on end - or in the case of the Cheese Phase, months. A phase ends when said food item is suddenly an object of revulsion, usually on the heels of a Costco trip where mass quantities of said item were purchased.

Speaking of revulsion, another common phenomenon of pregnancy is food aversions. I have not had much experience with this, save for one food group: vegetables. That's right; the healthiest food group is suddenly not appealing to me. I'm doing my best to eat them at lunch and supper, though I absolutely cannot bear the thought of carrots, especially cooked ones. It's fine, though; after a recent (pre-pregnancy) carrot binge, a friend pointed out that my palms had taken on a noticeably orange tinge. They're fine now, as is the rest of me.

This Week's Phase: The Party Mix Phase. I WILL NOT SURRENDER TO TEMPTATION.

Kindred Spirits

It's no secret that we essentially ate our way around the world. Though we experienced so many things, we remember distinctly the food -- naan breads bought on the streets of Delhi, blisteringly hot and tasting of charcoal; the comforting blandness of all-you-can-eat dal bhat in the mountains of Nepal; Tibetan momos (yak meat dumplings); sticky-sweet coconut sticky rice with cold sliced mango in Thailand. A few days after we got home, I was browsing through one of my favourite stores when I happened upon a recipe book about baking -- an obsession of mine, some might say.

This book caught my eye for a few reasons. As I said, it was about baking. It was full of recipes from all corners of the world -- middle Eastern breads, Montreal bagels, European pastries. It was full of gorgeous photos taken in these places, with little written vignettes that captured the spirit of the moments on the page. It was written by Canadians. I saw a recipe for good old-fashioned Canadian butter tarts and nearly swooned. I slammed the book shut and marched directly to the cash when I saw a recipe for Portuguese egg custard tarts, perhaps BG's most favourite thing in the world.

The book was Home Baking, written by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid. They live in Toronto; they speak of a coffee shop in Kensington Market that they frequent; I think I know it. They travel the world and they collect stories and take photos, and they learn about a country and its culture by understanding the food that its people eat. They understand why food is so very important to us; they understand that it's so much more than nourishment. It's joy. It's a celebration. It's delicious.

Jeffrey and Naomi have written several delicious-looking recipe books, and I'm determined to own every single one. It seems that we came home and discovered a set of kindred spirits. I would love nothing more than to meet this amazing couple in that little coffee shop in Kensington and talk about -- well, food.

Right now, those Portuguese egg tarts are cooling on the kitchen counter, and I'm thinking I have to find a good place to hide them, if I want them to last until tomorrow.

You're Full of It

What, you ask, have we been keeping ourselves occupied with lately?

Let's just say we're making up for five weeks of bush cuisine. I'm not knocking my own skills, but there's only so much you can do with a can of beans and a package of noodles.



Our first day, we ate lunch on the beach -- the deliciously familiar taste of roti and yummy fried Indian treats were all the better as we watched the aquamarine waters of the Indian Ocean kiss the white sands.





We're in French pastry heaven here! One of the must-do stops on our list was a bakery we last visited in 2003, when BG ate SIX pastries pretty much straight out of the oven. I'm happy to report that he matched his record this time, with Catherine taking the silver medal with four. Tarts bursting with fresh sweet banana custard and pastry shells full of sweet almond paste were devoured next to my favourites, Napolitaine cookies -- melt-in-your-mouth shortbread dipped in pink icing.



Actually, some of the best and most memorable meals are those eaten with family. This weekend we were treated to two dinners with family, and both were incredible. Being away from home for almost 15 months now has been great, but coming to Mauritius and spending time with family members has been a bit of a homecoming for all of us. On a personal note, sharing some of the tastes of my childhood with everyone has been the most nostalgic, familiar experience of all -- it ranks right up there with some of the "Big Sights" of 2008.

Thoughts on Poultry

Chickens are weird.

All over the world, chickens and their unhatched babies are a major food source for the human population. In Nepal, our trekking guide asked us what chickens in Canada looked like, and I had to admit that I had no idea. He told me that mountain chickens were tastier than city chickens -- a reasonable thing to say, it seemed. I told him we get our chicken from the grocery store, slaughtered, plucked, skinned, boned, and sealed up in neat little styrofoam packages.

In Hong Kong, I was dared to eat a chicken testicle -- which I did -- but I balked at the feet. I decided the next day to be a vegetarian.

I haven't seen a white egg since we left Canada. All over the world, in all of these countries, eggs are brown. Martha Stewart tells me it's because the chickens' ears are brown. In Cambodia we even saw blue eggs, but they were sitting beside deep-fried hairy tarantulas, so I didn't trust them.

All over the world, New Zealand and Australia included, they don't refrigerate their eggs in the store.

Sometimes, when I crack an egg, I get a spot of blood, or even twinned yolks -- two things that never seem to happen at home. The factory farming of chickens at home precludes this sort of organic reality, it seems.

Back when we climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro in 2006, eggs were a major staple for us because they didn't need refrigeration (see above.) On the way to the trail head, our assistant guide sat in the middle front seat of an old Land Rover with a grocery bag full of eggs in his lap. They were not in a carton. Every time the car went in to the ditch (which happened twice) or a bump (which was all the time) he lifted the bag of eggs off of his lap and held it suspended in midair, so none of them would break.

In Japan, a fried cutlet of chicken and a fried egg on rice are called, "Mother and Child".

Experiencing Hong Kong

The fact that I've been lax with the blogging and the journal writing is evidence that we are having a grand old time in Hong Kong. For the past few days we've been doing some administrative stuff, like applying for visas to go to China and Vietnam (although at this pace we may never leave!) However, Hong Kong has NOT been all work, no sir! We've done some of the tourist things in classic "BG & Val" way, like visiting Victoria Peak. Most people take the tram line up to the top, like normal people. Not us. We walked most of the way up, thinking it was going to be good "exercise", which it would have been, if not for the constant backtracking and standing around scrutinizing our map due to being endlessly lost. One would think it's hard to get lost climbing to the top of a hill, as all you do is point yourself in the direction that's hardest to go, but we managed to do it.

The view from the top was lovely, looking down onto Hong Kong Harbour and the rest of the city. Pity about the smog. We'd been warned that Victoria Peak was really "touristy", but were still somehow unprepared for the hawkers, souvenirs, and ultra-luxury mall with associated and equally luxurious coffee shops and restaurants. Of course we took advantage of the luxury coffee shops and restaurants and spent a lovely afternoon at the Peak.

Our feet have been aching from all of the walking we've done over the past eight weeks, so we treated ourselves one night to authentic Chinese acupressure foot massages -- painful, yet hilarious experiences. BG finished his off with a session of "cupping", hence the back.



Recently we tackled a bus tour of the New Territories of Hong Kong, which are the suburbs. What were we thinking? Let's take a bus tour of the suburbs, that should be fun. In retrospect, this is akin to a tourist to Toronto taking a bus tour to Mississauga, Pickering, and Oshawa. We saw a Buddhist monastery, which actually was interesting, but only served to confuse me further about Buddhism. This place was like the exact opposite of a Tibetan Buddhist monastery or temple -- where the Tibetan ones are chaotic, dark, and smell of yak butter, the one we saw was bright, clean, and completely empty. We also visited a lookout point where we could see the Chinese border city of Shenzhen (whee.), an ancient walled village that was more a senior citizens enclave than a living town, a wishing tree that is diseased and riddled with termites so it can't be approached, and as a grand finale, a jewellery factory where gold and diamond jewellery is made by hand.

Ok, so the last place was fun (Yay for diamonds!), but not so fun that we actually bought anything. (Boo for budgets.)

One thing that we have bought here in Hong Kong is a brand spankin' new laptop. I can't tell you anything about it except that it's here and I'm using it. BG gets mad, insane props for doing the research, the legwork, the decision making, and the purchasing -- and he in turn gives mad props to some local friends who helped him do the negotiations. This was a quest of epic proportions, as he bought from the Wan Chai computer mall, which is comprised of two floors of an office tower full of rows and rows of computer stores. He secretly loved it, though. I can tell. This should, in theory, help us keep our photos more organized and online more regularly, help us keep our (ahem) budget more organized and in check, and help us waste more time online than we were already doing.

Another Hong Kong Experience was a salon haircut for me. I was made an appointment with a man who was lauded as "The Best Stylist in Hong Kong", and I was treated to a decadent shampooing, a scaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalp massaaaaaaaaaaaaaage, and a really, really great cut. I no longer have an Asian mullet!

Our meals here have also been truly great. One night we had "clay pot" rice, where rice is boiled with some tasty (and truly scary) toppings in terra cotta pots, but that experience positively pales in comparison to the Chinese hot pot dinner that we shared with some new friends here -- two cauldrons of flavoured both in which you dump food of all species -- animal, vegetable, and more animal. The highlight of the evening for many of us was the consumption of chicken balls (and I really mean the balls.) Don't ask.

I'm sad today, though. My friend Ian is going back to Toronto today, and I've really loved hanging out with him. Hong Kong won't be the same without him. The next four days we plan on staying here seem to stretch before us now, even though I suspect we're now going to get more of the doing done and less of the lounging done.