The end of a chapter, and... new beginnings

As I settle back into my old apartment, old job and old life after a year abroad, I find myself seeking stability and routine. When there is too much change, too suddenly, it is emotionally and physically tiring. Yet as I scramble to get things in order, something feels different than before. I guess I'm a little different. And I want things to be different... very different.

Unfortunately, this blog has been caught in the cross-fire of the chaos, and its outcome does not look so good. After 3 1/2 years of blogging about DIY food, this will be my final posting on Pots and Jars. It's kind of a sad moment for me. I have truly appreciated you, reader, taking the time to share your opinions, give your feedback, and just being a part of this important slice of my life. Every time one of you posted a comment, it made me feel pretty darn special, and gave me the push I needed to keep on writing. I hope you found it informative, interesting, or heck, even inspiring.

I really hate saying goodbyes. So much that I'll sneak-out of a party, just to avoid the awkward goodbye part. Thankfully, this time I won't have to, because I'm launching a new blog, The Craft Bandit, within the next day or two. This site will be focused on DIY everything, including food and gardening. So it'll have some of the same content of P&J, but expanded to include non-edible artsy stuff too.

Change can be a good thing. Hope to see you there.

xo,
Minda

Rice and Bananas, Tea and Coffee

We're only a few days away from arriving in Toronto and settling back into the old apartment. Just in time for garden planning and seed buying... one of the many ways home is tempting us to come back. Of course, I will dearly miss our year of adventure, and apologize in advance if months from now, I still seem worlds-away distant or lost in thought. To be honest, the thing I love mostmostmost about travelling is not marvelling at historic temples, hiking in dense jungles or wandering through grand museums. For me, its doing those basic, everyday things we all normally do without much thought, because when you're in a new place, these tasks are suddenly so different that you immediately feel like you yourself are new, reborn as a child of sorts. Interactions with people, getting from place to place, using currency; it feels familiar, and yet totally fresh and kind of amusing. Food is another thing of wonderment - new produce, dishes, smells and table etiquette. Even the familiar staple foods from back home... seeing them in their raw, living, plant form at their tropical source is a delightful and curious thing. Here I would like to share a few of these moments, of those foods that even a strict Toronto locavore may find hard to resist.

Rice. A staple food to billions of people, and the perfect food when you want to eat a million of something. Owing to my Asian heritage, I've known this little pearl of a grain f

or as long as I can remember; it has been the colourless background to a zillion

meals in my lifetime. When I was sick, rice gave me an easily digestable soup (in the form of congee). When I was dieting, rice gave me a low-calorie, gluten-free snack (in the form of rice cakes and crackers). Rice has always been there for me, like a true pal. Yet only until recently have I touched a living rice plant. Now, rice has given me an unforgettable picture of south Asia: the vivid green colour of endless rice paddies.

Bananas. Everyone's favourite peelable raw fruit actually comes in a ton of varieties. Banana trees grow farmed or wild in the tropics, and fruits develop from the large, singular "flower" which droops from the tree stem and hangs in mid-air. The young flower on its own is edible, say, in a Thai or Lao style salad or soup. But when left to mature on the tree, the flower's outer "petals" wither and fall off, each layer revealing a neat row of curved fruits which grow meaty and green.

Tea and coffee. Two of the world's most popular drinks, source from two of the world's most unremarkable-looking plants. Why or how did someone figure that drying, fermenting and roasting their plant parts would yield such a highly-addictive, flavourful brew is beyond comprehension. I can tell you first-hand that a freshly plucked tea leaf is tough, fibrous and lacks any distinct or pleasant taste. Similarily, the white flesh of a coffee berry smells just like nothing. Unlike any of the aforementioned crops, coffee seems to be the only one that the locals themselves don't consume regularly. Another by-product of our strange global food economy.

See you back at home!

Eating, Hand To Mouth

Most of you reading this have been taught at a young age not to touch your food with your hands, a practice that is constantly reinforced by social norms. We've probably even tried to detach a pizza slice using a napkin, or pour peanuts from bowl to hand, to avoid touching other people's food. Perhaps we fear the disapproval of our germ-conscious peers, or maybe we seek to set an example in hopes of reducing our own microbe intake. After all, touching food is unsanitary, barbaric, and impolite... right?

But in countries such as Malaysia and Indonesia, eating with your hands is not uncommon; in India and Nepal it is the norm. A few simple practices ensures hygiene, such as visiting the nearby sink or water bucket before and after your meal, and always using your right hand to eat instead of your dirty-job left hand.

My first hand-eating experience was a banana leaf thali - several indian curries spooned onto a banana leaf, served with rice. Using your hand, you mix the curries and the rice, working it into a good consistency to scoop with your fingers and pop into your mouth with your thumb. It felt incredibly awkward, messy, and kind of gross. My fingers were uncoordinated, and I ended up with food all over my palm and chin.

A few weeks later, I found myself sharing food with a friendly couple from Malaysia, who clearly found great pleasure in eating. I noticed their utensils went untouched, as they happily hand-scooped the food into their mouths. They explained how they loved eating with their hands, because you could really "feel" the food through the sense of touch.

This simple explanation gave me the permission I was looking for to start enjoying the feel of my own food, and slowly the guilt and embarrassment from years of utensil-culture shrank away. I discovered the joy of tearing into a fresh, warm chapatti (flat bread), the smooshy feeling of rice and curry between the fingers, and the softness and weight of paneer (cheese) or spiced potato in your hand. Eating with your hands is not only convenient and immediate, but also satisfying and gratifying on an unfamiliar level. Give it a few tries yourself... you might find you like it.

Delicious Murder - Part Two

Okay, so you're a meat eater. You eat cow, pig, fish and chicken meat; maybe even rabbit, lamb or deer. Perhaps you don't eat certain animals because of religious rules. Or perhaps because something is just not quite right about it. Or maybe you're a person that would try anything.

I thought myself to be a rather courageous, adventurous eater. Recently, I tried horse meat in Russia, yak meat in Mongolia, reindeer meat in Finland, and kangaroo meat in Australia, taking some care to consume animals that are common and plentiful, and not rare or endangered. I've always scoffed at people who refuse to eat certain animals simply because they feel some special affection towards it. Oh, a lamb or rabbit is too cute to eat? And just because a pig is somehow not as cute means you don't mind eating it? They are still two living beings, said the left-hemisphere of my brain. What's the difference between killing one animal or killing another?

When I read in my China guidebook that there was a food market in Yangshuo that sold dog meat, I knew I had to see it for myself. Before we get into this subject further, let's get one thing straight: most Chinese people do NOT eat dogs. One last thing: be warned that there is a rather graphic photo below, so please do not continue reading if you may be bothered by it.

This food market was like no other I had ever been to, on my travels or even in China. It was in a dark warehouse, there was blood on the floor, and even the air felt thick and heavy. The butcher stalls in the back were mostly selling poultry, but some had dogs and cats. The dogs were all of the same breed - a white, short-haired dingo-type dog. There were live dogs in wire cages under the tables, and roasted dogs hanging from hooks at the front. It was fascinating and horrifying. I took a couple of quick, out-of-focus photos, and made a beeline for the exit.

Having grown-up in a culture where dogs are man's best friend, this experience really spun my head around. Even if I had mentally prepared myself, I don't think I could have walked up to the stall and paid for a piece of take-out barbeque dog, let alone stuck around to gawk for a bit longer, especially with caged dogs looking on. The whole scene seemed cruel and unnecessary.

The same question from before stuck in my mind: what's the difference between killing one animal and killing another? I didn't have any reaction to the chicken stalls at the same market, with their stacks of caged chickens against the wall and their displays of delicious cooked chickens. Is it just a matter of getting used to eating new and different animals? If so, where is the line between civilized, moral human beings and murderous cannibals?

Delicious Murder - Part One

The ethical treatment of food animals is one important consideration in deciding whether or not to eat meat, but it seems most people are happily ignorant, perhaps so that they can continue to eat their favourite meaty foods without their conscience spoiling the fun. It certainly doesn't help that those do who speak up for animal rights are demonized in the media as psychotic, emotionally unstable women or effeminate men. Yet I think we can all agree that caging animals in highly confined and unsanitary spaces, or administering death in a way that causes prolonged pain and suffering is not cool, dude.

But if the animal was raised in a natural environment and killed in a humane way, are we free to feast without guilt? My personal opinion: if you can raise and kill the animal yourself, thus fully aware and involved in the ethical questions and ends of your actions, then yes, you can eat that animal with a clean conscience.Sounds straight-forward, but I myself have not had the chance to kill an animal to eat. During our travels through the countryside of Mongolia, I learned that even watching someone else do the dirty work isn't so simple.
The Mongolian nomadic people rely on their herds of animals for surviving in their harsh, unforgiving landscape. We were staying at a ger camp with a family that owned goats and camels. Our group of 6 tourists decided that we would purchase a goat for $60, and have it killed, dressed, cleaned and cooked to feed us over the next few days while we were camping in the countryside.
A smallish goat was presented to us for inspection. Our approval meant a death sentence for this young animal. After we gave the go-ahead, the goat was immediately flipped on its back, and held down by two men to prevent struggle or escape. I watched the goat squeeze its eyes shut as one of the men used a sharp knife to make a 12-inch cut along its belly. The man then reached his arm inside the goat, stopping its heart for a clean and quick kill. The dead goat was carried inside a ger, the skin removed, innards and flesh cleaned and prepared for cooking. Keeping with the Mongolian tradition, all parts of the goat are used in some way. It seemed clear that this was a very ethical and humane way to eat meat. The animals are free to roam and forage the grasslands for most of their lives. The actual kill is quick. And for these nomadic people, the animals serve as one of their few sources of nutrition. Yet for a traveller like me, who spends most of my time in places where non-animal sources of food are readily available, this goat's death seems like a big sacrifice in comparison to the small luxury of short-lived, tasty enjoyment. The feeling of guilt was stronger than I imagined. Could I have abstained from a few meat-containing meals to preserve this goat's life?

Freegans and Friendship in Scandanavia

As a long-term budget traveller, I am quickly learning the skill of stretching the money we have. This has been especially important in Scandanavian Europe, where everything is more expensive than we are used to. For example, a regular coffee easily costs 5 Canadian dollars. Luckily, with the help of other like-minded folks, we've had some great meals that have cost us zero currency units.

In Denmark, we find out that our new Danish pal is a foodie of sorts. While he works on cooking us a huge pot of pasta with bacon and rose sauce for late-breakfast in his tiny kitchen, he pulls out a handful of green leaves from a bag. He explains that it is a culinary plant is known as "ramslog" (the 'o' has a line through it). It tastes peppery and onionish, is relatively uncommon and mostly obtained by wild foraging (which is where this bunch came from).

In Norway, we meet an American traveller who looks like a young, blonde, smaller version of Woody Harrelson. He comes up with the brilliant idea to quell our midnight hunger pangs by foraging for food in the FREE section of the hostel kitchen, where other travellers have left food they no longer wish to carry with them. We made a large pot of spaghetti by combining a family-sized portion of instant noodle soup, one packet of instant ramen noodles, a generous dash of cooking oil, and a handful of mysterious vegetable-type powder. The result is an intensely salty, gooey, and slightly off-tasting pot of noodles. It was both filling and amusing.

In Sweden, the famed Scandanavian cold and rainy spring weather finally caught up to us. We hid out in our hostel for too much time, I regret. We found that the hostel kitchen had an amazing selection of free food, including cocoa powder. This discovery awakened my longing desire to bake. We end up finding flour, margarine, salt, sugar cubes, and strawberry jam... the makings of chocolate thumbprint cookies. These freegan cookies were shared with all those lingering around the hostel after dinner. One nice Danish couple lovingly placed their cookies on their pink lunchbox so they look like a pair of eyes.

In Finland, we spend our week there couchsurfing with 3 different hosts. Our first host was an energetic, young hippie couple who was preparing for a raw food diet. Their indoor garden of exotic chili pepper varieties, among other edible plants, and knowledge of wild foraging was very impressive. We went on a foraging walk, where we tasted a variety of edible plants, and collected some leaves for one of the best salads I've had in a long time.

A huge thank you to all the travellers who share their food with others, instead of letting it go to waste. A big bear-sized hug to all of the gracious hosts, who welcome and feed travellers and vagabonds with food and tales. We continue to be blessed with the generosity, laughter and friendship of the people we meet.

Local Food Action - Europe Edition

Hey blog-readers! It's been a while. I'm in bike-friendly Copenhagen, Denmark, and have been travelling for over 6 weeks now. The signs of spring are all around, and it's hard to suppress the desire to garden. I thought it would be nice to give a few quick photos and quips to show you what our European brothers and sisters are doing on the local food scene.

In Ireland, there is a nation-wide campaign to support Irish-made products to help boost the economy from within. In the edible realm, a special green logo was developed to help consumers quickly identify the homegrown/produced products: "Love Irish Food". We read about Irish farmhouse cheese in our guidebook, but it was quite hard to find in the supermarkets. After a bit of research, a quick email and driving around in circles in the Irish countryside, we found ourselves in the company of the lovely folks at the production site of Cashel Blue cheese. Our host confirmed that their incredibly creamy blue cheese is not only made and packaged on location by the employed local community members, but all of the milk is sourced from their neighboring farm. We spent a couple of meditative days with beautiful, enlightening beings at the Jampa Ling Buddhist Centre, a few hours northwest of Dublin. The centre has an amazing garden space, where they grow edible and medicinal plants. When we visited in chilly mid-March, only the rhubarb was showing signs of growth. Every Wednesday morning the residents spend a few hours working in the communal garden. Workshops on gardening and foraging are also held here.In Germany, it was love at first sight for Berlin. A city that is bursting with history, art, and is just so goddamn cool, we were not the only ones floating on cloud nine. We formed a crew of equally smitten Europeans and North Americans, and spent days and very long nights laughing and exploring the city together. One of my favourite nights was when we cooked a communal pasta dinner in the hostel kitchen. There's something magical about sharing food with people that I can't find the words for right now.We also stopped over in Hamburg for a few days to visit a couple of friends we met in Scotland a few weeks earlier. This wild port city is home to the Sunday morning St. Pauli Fischmarkt (fishmarket), where Saturday night drunken revelry can continue on well after the sun has risen. Live music, beer, and food vendors keep the mood lively and the crowds happy. The fish sold here is often caught in the waters just behind the pier, and some vendors were hawking their fish like an auctioneer. Given that I don't understand German, I could only guess what the commotion was: the vendor slowly and loudly fills a plastic bag with a variety of fish from his stand. When a buyer from the crowd is satisfied with the selection and named price, they step up and pay for the bag of fish. It was brilliantly simple, and highly entertaining. Until next time, happy trails and guten apetit!

The Value of Barter

This past Monday I attended Well Preserved's Preserve Swap. M and I were not really sure what to expect, having been invited by WP's Dana and Joel after bumping into them on the street earlier in the week. But curiosity and practicality gave way, as we still needed to find a home for a couple jars of spicy dilly beans sitting on our shelf.

The event was a great turn-out. Preservers packed the little neighborhood bar and lined the counter space with their jars of jams, jellies, pickles and preserves. Some of the more unique items were rumtopf, dandelion jelly, maple syrup, and cured ham hock. I felt a little out-of-place, having only brought 2 measly, unlabelled jars, but I was intent on trading for something different.

We ended up meeting a handful of passionate preservers, and scoring a nice slab of bacon (cured by Starfish chef Kyle Deming) and a bright red jar of apple jelly (freshly made by local Beverley Barnett Graham). A sweet deal for our 2 jars of dilly beans! Ah, money-less exchange makes me happy, as does hot sizzling bacon and a mouthful of sweet jelly. Best of all, now that I have a Preserve Swap under my belt, I promise to step up my game for the next event.

The Sunflower Revolution (Part Three)

What a day! Seedy Sunday was back again this year, and in full force. The event moved to the University of Toronto Hart House, a bigger space than the Wychwood Barns location it has been at for the past years. It was clear that the extra space was needed for new and bigger displays and tables. The buzz of ideas exchanging between seed swappers, food sellers, community groups and gardening gurus filled the hall with excitement and body heat.

I dropped off the seed bomb dispenser early in the morning prior to the sneak preview. I was unable to get the "Sunflower Your City" seed bombing info blog up-and-running last night... bah. The dispenser, sign and envelopes were strategically set-up at the end of the TCGN display, close to the event reception desk. As I took photos of my mini display, a few people approached me to give me props, one of whom was Lara. She was at the event promoting a campaign to have her book, An Illustrated Guide to Growing Food on Your Balcony, sent to the printer. Big up yourself!

I left the hall shortly after, feeling anxious about splitting so quickly. When I returned a couple hours later, it looked like a good chunk of balls were missing. Hurray! TCGN volunteers were doing a great job of manning the display and explaining what it was to curious onlookers. Garden Jane's seed bomb making kits were also set-up beside the dispenser... a perfect combination. I was able to chat with Jane a little later on, and she explained to me that she sourced a special food-safe clay for her kit. She suggested that we join forces in the near future. High five!

At the end of the day, about half of the bombs had been dispensed, and a little envelope of coins was collected for the TCGN. The seed bomb machine garnered much attention and appreciation, though coins kept getting stuck and the balls didn't come out all the time. I ended up lending the entire display to the Seedy Sunday organizers, who wanted to use it for their North York event next month. Though I would be out of the country by that time, I was happy to oblige. Hopefully I'll be able to connect them with Evergreen, who was keen on taking the dispenser for the rest of the year.

Now, we wait and watch. Go forth, bomb throwers and sunflower minions, and spread your roots of colour and life into our city.

The Sunflower Revolution (Part Two)

Seedy Sunday is less than 24 hours away, and I'm scrambling to get my seed bomb dispenser completed. I also found out that there's a TCGN-member sneak preview of the event, meaning we start 1.5 hrs earlier than I thought. The good news is that I've made all 229-ish seed bombs, using up all of the sunflower seeds and clay. And the dispenser isn't even full! It could probably take 300 bombs. About 30 seed bomb envelopes are also ready to go, each of which fit 3 bombs snug.

I put a good handful of bombs into the dispenser as a test run, and it works like a charm. But with all 200+ bombs, it doesn't work so nice. Hm, that makes me a little nervous. I've found that giving the dispenser a good shake will help move the bombs along.

I've mentioned this project to a few friends, most of whom have no clue about seed bombing. I struggle with a good explanation to explain why anyone would want to deposit these balls around the city for fun. After some thought, I think this might describe it best: seed bombing is like graffiti for gardeners.

The dispenser is as much of an interactive art installation as it is a community activist weapon. The sign I've started to sketch will probably be more of the 'art' part. I also wanted it all to be accompanied by a blog with more information about seed bombs, sunflowers and guerrilla gardening, but I'm not sure I have time to do a good job of it. I've set-up an email account (thesunflowerrevolution@gmail.com) and reserved the blog name (sunflower-your-city.blogspot.com), just in case.

With markers in one hand and a beer in the other, I hope the next 12 hours will be good to me.

Making Yogurt

Making-your-own-anything from scratch feels good. Something about independence, empowerment, being connected.... all that hippie-speak that makes us sound so fantastically smug.

My gardener and crafty friend turned me onto the idea of making yogurt. Super simple, and oh-so-tasty, she says. A slightly-more economical option, too: a kilo of organic milk costs $3.50, compared to a 750g tub of organic yogurt costing $5. I think, ponder, reflect, ho-hum, and procrastinate for a few months. And then finally, I decide I'll try it out. So with a tub of plain, store-bought yogurt containing active cultures, and a litre of whole milk, the process begins.

I used the step-by-step instructions found on www.makeyourownyogurt.com, but I make it even lazier by heating the milk directly in the pot (vs using a double-boiler set-up), and forgo the heating pad and place my milk/culture mix in a warm oven.

Nine hours later and halfway into the Superbowl, I uncover the pot and find that the milk has curdled! Insert high-pitched squeal-of-delight here. The yogurt is stirred, poured into jars, and chilled in the fridge. The next day, the yogurt is nicely set; a bit runnier than I like, which I'll correct at the next go-around. I've successfully grown my own delicious milky army of bacterial cultures. I crack open a jar of pear and ginger preserves, stir it in with some toasted oats, and enjoy.

The Sunflower Revolution (Part One)

Sometime last summer, I was at a local burrito shop grabbing a quick bite before a movie. A business card tacked on the bulletin board caught my eye. It read: "Soiled and Seeded - cultivating a garden culture". I took a photo with my camera phone to look it up later. When I did, I learned that Soiled and Seeded was a Toronto-based, soon-to-be online urban gardening magazine. I loved the concept, loved the arsty photos, and signed-up for their newsletter.

When I received their first newsletter, there was an article that caught my eye. A company in Los Angeles, Greenaid, was renting out seed bomb dispensers that looked like gumball machines in major American cities. The idea impressed me a great deal, but I wasn't so keen with the seemingly for-profit nature of it. To me, seed bombs are a tool for freedom of expression and community ownershipurban gardening in its most basic, raw form. Profit just doesn't fit into the picture.

In December, I was at an indie craft show with a friend, when an art installation caught my eye. It was a giant junk food dispenser, only instead of candy, it dispensed poems. I remembered the seed bomb dispenser, and mentioned it to my pal. She suggested that instead of renting out a machine from Greenaid, that I make my own dispenser from a vintage gumball machine. I was impressed with my friend's ingenuity.

Last week, I was surfing on Craigslist, and saw a vintage gumball machine for sale. It was perfect: counter-top sized, and set-up for a pay-what-you-can system, where someone would not have to insert coins in order to retrieve the goodies inside. I did some quick research and learned how easy making seed bombs was. I quickly sourced the clay from an art store, the compost from my worm bin, and the seeds from Urban Harvest. The seeds, I decided, would have to be from the sunflower plant; for their fiery beauty, their toughness, and their amazing powers in removing toxins from the soil. Exactly what this city needs.

A quick email to one of the organizers of Seedy Sunday sealed the deal. They were more than happy to set-up my repurposed sunflower seed bomb dispenser at one of their tables. We agreed that all bomb proceeds would go to The Toronto Community Garden Network, a committed group of urban gardeners that fuels the garden movement through engagement and involvement.

I guess it's a very long winded way of telling you some exciting news, but I really love the way all of these small events came together so nicely. Each event became a catalyst for the next, and I think it poetically illustrates the symbiotic relationship of a community.

Indoor Plant Projects Workshop

This morning I was fortunate enough to catch Evergreen Brick Works' Indoor Plant Projects workshop. Waking up early on a Saturday morning is not one of my strong points, but I was motivated enough by the promise of learning new indoor growing ideas to will myself out of bed and brave the stinging cold trek up to the Brick Works.

The workshop focused on two ways to grow plants indoors in a small space: green walls and terrariums. Even though the plants demonstrated were of the tropical, carnivorous, fern and moss variety, the same tools and techniques can be applied to edibles. Think herbs and lettuces. Keep in mind that edibles need a fair amount of sun to grow.

Green walls can be constructed a variety of ways. You could build a series of shelves or webbing to hold the plant containers vertically, or affix the containers directly to a wall, bookshelf, etc. For those who aren't DIY-inclined, a couple of great alternatives are Woolly Pockets or a plastic, modular wall planter kit. Evergreen purchased a few of the latter for us to try out.

I must admit, the kit is quite simple but brilliant. It's a hard plastic tray with slanted plant slots. A water tray with tiny holes fits into the top, and the water drizzles through channels down the tray. Another water tray sits at the bottom to collect excess moisture.

We threw in a few handfuls of regular potting mix into the slots, and stuffed the plants in. A bit of coir can be added on top to hold back any soil that wants to fall out once the kit is mounted on the wall.













The Evergreen staff also showed us a few of their own impressive vertical grow projects, including a series of hanging window edibles in upcycled pop bottles, an industrial planter made from an old electrical box, and sprouts growing from custom-made plastic tubes.




Next, we learned to construct a terrarium, which is basically a small enclosed ecosystem. Drainage rocks, potting mix, and maybe a little coir or Spanish moss is layered into a glass jar. Plants are planted, and about 1/4 cup of water is poured in. A cork or plexiglas stopper is fitted to seal the jar airtight. You can even turn the terrarium into a lamp stand by topping it with a lamp head. The lamp add-on serves as an additional source of light for the plants, not to mention changing the whole set-up to a wicked cool light fixture.





















The terrarium project really got me excited... it reminded me of Holly Handmade's crafted mushroom terrariums. I left the workshop feeling inspired, with crafty terrarium ideas stewing in my nog.