tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18408504612151023832024-03-06T09:20:47.256+01:00Potatoes and YamsFood, cooking, and life abroadDianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-87692557718920562382013-03-28T21:32:00.000+01:002013-03-28T21:32:18.453+01:00Random SupermarketI really should document the variety of butter sculptures available to the supermarket consumer throughout the year. I was a little disappointed not to see any butter bunnies. What molded butter statue will they have next month?<br />
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Every time the store has these things, I start thinking about this trailer, and then it makes me want to go to the Iowa State Fair.<br />
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<br />Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-29244029504998505362013-03-27T19:58:00.000+01:002013-03-27T19:58:52.561+01:00Becoming Dutch, prt. 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you ever have events in your life that you think aren't going to be a big deal before they happen, but in actuality it's a very important moment in your life? That's how I felt about the day I became a Dutch citizen. In the weeks leading up to the ceremony I barely discussed the ceremony with anyone, taking on a happy but relaxed tone about the whole thing. Privately during my quiet moments, I was in turn excited and very nervous about getting up in front of a large crowd of people. I kept worrying that I would mispronounce the words or that I would trip and fall on the stage with everyone watching or that people would judge me as not being Dutch enough. During this whole process I have contemplated what it means to take on a new nationality. In this globalized world, the role of the nation-state is not what it used to be, and we have culturally assigned a different meaning to citizenship, but I am struggling to put into words what that meaning is exactly. I have especially tried to think about what it means to have dual citizenship.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the ceremony began, old films of Amsterdam were projected behind the podium. Very cool.</td></tr>
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I've loosely followed parliamentary debates in the Netherlands on the question of dual citizenship. In certain situations (like mine), holding two passports is allowed, but that doesn't mean certain political parties aren't opposed to the practice. Dual citizenship can be a difficult concept to wrap your head around, especially because granting citizenship to an individual requires an oath of loyalty to a nation. There is a worry that loyalty to two countries could possibly create a dilemma for individuals in certain situations. I found <a href="http://www.migrationpolicy.org/transatlantic/docs/faist-final.pdf" target="_blank">this report</a> from the Migration Policy Institute to be quite helpful in explaining the issues some people have with dual nationality. For me, at least, dual citizenship has more to do with my concept of identity than it does with any question of loyalty. It goes without saying that I, of course, feel loyal to the Netherlands; my husband, my daughter and my home are all here. I read Dutch newspapers, shop in Dutch supermarkets, follow Dutch politics and celebrate Dutch holidays with my Dutch family. I look forward to voting and having a say in the place I call home. It has been difficult at times to acclimate to life in a new country, but I can honestly say that I feel settled here. Things that used to irritate me I now pass off as quirky and just part of life. When Niek's friends start waxing nostalgic about their youth, however, I start to feel like an observer looking in on a past I can understand but cannot relate to.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am not stuttering or falling across the stage.</td></tr>
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How could I ever not feel like an American when my childhood and a good chunk of my adulthood are rooted in the U.S.? It's part of my identity and not one that I could just forget. My parents and some close friends are American and still live there. In this digital age, I can read American papers every day if I want to, although I am sometimes very thankful to be removed from the 24-hour, American news cycle. I'm actually really grateful that the construct of dual citizenship exists. It affords me the opportunity to create a new identity in a hyper-connected world--at least, the Netherlands and the U.S. feel deeply intertwined within my own identity. I can't help but think how different it is for me than for immigrants from only a century ago. My grandparents used to tell stories about their childhood and their parents' identities as Americans. My great-grandparents immigrated to the U.S., and when their children were born they were brought up to be "American" with very few ties to the old country. Sure, their cuisine was tinted with the flavors of central Europe and their Catholic parish was comprised almost entirely of immigrant families from Yugoslavia. Despite living in a neighborhood full of families just like theirs, my grandparents only ever spoke English in their homes, having been told by their immigrant parents that Americans only spoke English. There is a passage in the novel, <i>Middlesex</i>, describing a ceremony at the Ford Motor Company for new immigrant employees that struck such a chord with me, because it reminded me of my grandparents' stories. All the employees start the pageant in the traditional dress of their homelands before descending into a pot and then remerging as "Americans" all dressed in similar looking suits. Becoming Dutch felt nothing like shedding my past the way it must have been for immigrants only a few generations ago. It no longer feels necessary or even right to renounce my past. I get the sense that their is a collective acceptance for dual nationalities, and I don't feel any friction with this new identity.<br />
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Those were my thoughts leading up to the naturalization ceremony. The night before I couldn't sleep from all the excitement, and before leaving for the ceremony I put my hair up four different times before I felt it was right (not apparent in the blurry photo below). In a room with lots of other families about 50 people made an oath to be loyal and true citizens to the Kingdom of the Netherlands. The speech emphasized tolerance and respect for difference: a multi-culti moment that felt a little forced but was a nice sentiment, nonetheless. They didn't call my name until almost the very end. I think they went in random order, so there was really no warning when it would be my turn.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's official! I'm Dutch now.</td></tr>
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After the ceremony they served Dutch foods like cheese cubes and bitterballen (fried meat balls). I didn't have any of it because I was busy chasing after this one:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She walks now and does not sit still.</td></tr>
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My family, bless them, marked the occasion with a few Dutch presents to make my transformation into citizen complete. I now have a sandwich box for my lunch, which came complete with a cheese sandwich and licorice (gross!). Do you see the cookbook with pea soup on the cover? That slim volume is full of Dutch cuisine recipes. I can sum it up for you with just a few ingredients: potatoes, peas, sausage, apples.<br />
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I applied for my passport last week, and that's when my new identity finally become something tangible. I looked down on my passport application and saw my nationality listed as Dutch. It feels very real now, and I'm happy about that. </div>
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Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-34547624122995815442013-03-19T20:33:00.000+01:002013-03-19T20:33:03.209+01:00Becoming DutchAfter my very old MacBook up and died more than a month ago, I thought that I would deal with the transition to a computerless existence pretty well. I have an iPad mini and a wireless keyboard, so I thought that I could handle most daily tasks. That was an error in thinking on my part. Living without a computer after hauling around laptops for more than a decade has been really hard. Writing without Word has been, well actually it hasn't been anything, because I can't seem to write without a screen. When I had to write papers in grad school and hit a writing block, I would take a break from my computer and write things out by hand. Now that I have no computer, I can't seem to get any thoughts down on any medium. Niek is at a conference tonight, so I have commandeered his laptop and am finally writing the post I meant to write almost a month ago.<br />
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In February, I finally became a Dutch citizen. It feels like it took a long time to get to that point, but in reality, I think the whole process went fairly quickly. I applied for my citizenship back in October, but the preparation for that step started around this time last year. All foreign, non-EU residents are required to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Integration_law_for_immigrants_to_the_Netherlands" target="_blank">prove that they have integrated into Dutch society</a> after having lived in the Netherlands for a few years. This is required for all residents, not just those planning on becoming citizens. You can do this in one of two ways: pass an integration exam (inburgeringsexamen) or pass a Dutch as a Second Language (nederlands als tweede taal, aka NT2) exam, which is called the staatsexamen. I had very little interest sitting through the class for the integration exam. Furthermore, I had zero interest in creating a portfolio of everyday tasks (ordering bread at the baker, filing a police report, etc.) to prove I could navigate daily life in the Netherlands, which is a required component of the integration exam. Instead, I decided to take the staatsexamen. It seemed the right choice for me. I could put on my CV that my Dutch was at the level of those studying at the university level, and I wouldn't have to sit through any classes. The NT2 program at a university in Amsterdam recommended a self-study book, which I worked my way through all summer long. Studying wasn't unpleasant, but it gave me some awful flashbacks to the days when I was prepping for the GRE. I truly hope this was my last exam, although I'm sure it won't be. I'm sure I'll find something else in the future I will need to study for. That's just my life, I suppose.<br />
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After thinking that I failed the speaking section of the exam--the only section I felt I didn't need to study for, so confident I was in my speaking capabilities--I got my results five weeks later informing me that I passed. This fulfilled my integration requirement and my last requirement for the citizenship application. When Niek and I went to file my paperwork to apply for citizenship, we were both struck by how anti-climactic the moment turned out to be. We sat in a tiny cubicle with a civil servant whose first two questions to us were, "Do you know how much it costs to apply?" and "Are you prepared to pay today?" Our answer was yes to both the questions. That satisfied his curiosity as he printed forms for me to sign. He gave me a packet with further information about the process, directed us to the cashier's window and reminded us that my paperwork wouldn't be processed until we paid. Thanks.<br />
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A few weeks later, I got a letter from Immigration and Naturalization Services (IND) informing me that they had received my application. Every few weeks I would get a letter letting me know that my application was making its way through the pipeline of bureaucratic red tape. I was on edge almost every day when I heard the mailman delivering letters. Have you ever seen a crazy, thirty-something woman check her mailbox at least six times a day? You should have seen me. You missed out on something truly bizarre. Poor Johanna had no idea why she got carted down to the mailbox so often. When the letter finally arrived at the end of January, I was almost hysterical. There it was, the letter informing me that the queen had taken the advice from the good people at the IND and was granting me Dutch citizenship. I just had to attend the naturalization ceremony in Amsterdam, and then it would be official.<br />
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And now I see that I have rambled too long, so I will make my story two parts. Until tomorrow!<br />
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<br />Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-74090860042097275592013-03-09T11:38:00.001+01:002013-03-09T11:41:44.366+01:00Broken computerMy computer decided it was done living, which has left me feeling a little lost for the past few weeks. While I can surf the internet on my phone, typing with my thumbs is something I'd like to leave to the generations behind me.<br />
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I found this yesterday at the supermarket, however, and just wanted to share. It's a coffee pastry with, to my mind at least, the unfortunate name of Bolus. You know, like the ball of chewed food in your mouth right before you swallow. I bought it anyway. It wasn't anything to write home about. When Niek saw it, he told me that you can also use the word bolus to talk about poop. Hmm...Add this one to the list of cultural incommensurability.<br />
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Sorry that the picture is upside down. I can't seem to rotate image using the Blogger app.<br />
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Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-31841984533631881812013-01-23T12:06:00.001+01:002013-01-23T12:06:42.053+01:00The Cult of NespressoI know America has the whole Keurig thing going on with coffee these days--at least that is what the internet has led me to believe. We've never truly bought into the whole single serving machine (too wasteful, mediocre coffee) in this house, even though George Clooney doesn't travel without one.<br />
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Once grad school finally broke me down and made me realize how wonderful a cup of coffee could be, I became a coffee shop kind of person. I like the ritual of going to a place, preferably with someone else, and having a barista make me a drink while I talk/read/study/work. Now that there is a toddler in the house, I don't always have time or the desire to go out for a cup of coffee. It really is not relaxing to chase after a toddler who thinks power outlets are toys. Besides, I feel like Christina Applegate's character in the opening scene <a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/417304" target="_blank">of this episode</a> of <i>Up All Night</i> when I place my order. Unlike her character, I have never pretended to know anything about music, and as yet (knock on wood) I have not done a face plant and gotten called ma'am afterwards. <i>Side note: I have fallen during a run on an icy day and been stepped over by housewives doing their grocery shopping.</i> <i>Is that better or worse?</i></div>
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This past summer during our vacation in Switzerland we had a Nespresso machine in our rental house. This was a blessing for a house full of coffee drinkers. We were in the middle of the Alps at the end of a valley. It's not like there was a Starbucks around the corner. My mother-in-law enjoyed the Nespresso so much that she bought one as soon as she returned. I fail to see the logic behind her choice, because they own a very nice espresso machine. I think she had such a fun time on vacation and wanted to hold onto that. Plus, she likes having decaffeinated coffee at night and can't easily switch out the beans in their other machine. She must have asked me twenty times if I wanted a Nespresso for my birthday this year, to which I said no every time. A few weeks ago when my in-laws started babysitting for us one morning a week, they showed up with a Nespresso. They drink about ten cups of coffee a day and couldn't bear to spend so many hours in our house without their caffeine infusion. Looks like we are the owners of a Nespresso, despite my protests. This one:</div>
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I resisted at first and tried to dislike it, mostly because it's another appliance taking up space in our crowded kitchen. I think it's just in my nature to be a bit contrary--not one of my better characteristics, I'll admit. I have the demeanor of a grumpy old man on certain days. I still don't love it, but I have started to enjoy its convenience factor when people come over for a visit. Niek even used it this morning, because he knew he wouldn't have a chance for a good cup of coffee today. The coffee, while not spectacular, isn't bad.</div>
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Hats off to the Nespresso marketing team. Once you buy one of these machines and start investing in the coffee pods that go in it, you get to belong to a club. The Nespresso stores are sleek and modern, and you can try all the varieties in the store. If you are a club member you can stop in anytime just for a cup of coffee, which gets served to you at a coffee bar in the special Nespresso cups you can also buy for your home. It's as if you get celebrated for buying your machine every time you go in. Seriously, nicely done Nestlé. With that kind of customer service it's no wonder the place is packed whenever I walk past. I'm not the believer Nespresso wants me to be, but I suppose I can't be the loud-mouthed naysayer that I was. </div>
Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-38936759783717705332013-01-16T12:35:00.000+01:002013-01-16T12:35:03.529+01:00Diet Cleanse (or not)The Whole Living Challenge should be entering into week 3 in our house right about now, but instead I just finished a latte and a muffin. To be perfectly honest, the cleanse lasted all of four days before I looked at Niek and told him we were going out for coffee and a croissant. Go ahead, tell me that I was wrong and it was a stupid idea. I won't disagree with the assessment.<br />
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The first day was horrible, and I was hungry all day long. The next few days were okay, but I still couldn't ever reach a point of feeling full. I wasn't missing the dairy or caffeine, and while the carbohydrate cravings were present, they weren't overwhelming. It was the protein I felt was lacking. I just wanted to tear into a steak or a piece of chicken or a can of chickpeas. Overall, I was just hungry and felt that I wasn't consuming enough calories. I almost fainted a few times during the last two days. When it got to that point, I admitted that it was stupid and that I wanted to stop.<br />
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I had my doubts about the efficacy of a cleanse before we even started, so I am not surprised that I ended up disliking the experience so much. Some people swear by them, but I am not a believer. Niek and I discussed it and came to the conclusion that our diet is already a well balanced one, and there wasn't much need to cut out the "bad." The experience wasn't for naught, even though it sounds that way. Without my normal breakfast (two pieces of bread, one with jam and the other with cheese) I felt less bloated in the mornings. I've stuck with smoothies most mornings since then and am enjoying it for now. Niek, realizing that he didn't miss coffee as much as he was expecting, has cut back to about one espresso a day. I'm now more likely to reach for dried fruit and nuts for a snack than a piece of bread and cheese or a cookie. That's something, I suppose. However, I didn't need to attempt a "cleanse" to come to this conclusion. A small adjustment in my routine would have been enough.<br />
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Routines need a little shaking up every now and then. I gave the issue of our eating/cooking routines a lot of thought these past few weeks. Before embarking on the cleanse, my habits had felt so deeply ingrained, and I was having trouble figuring out what I needed to change--if anything. Did you miss the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/19/magazine/shopping-habits.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0" target="_blank">NY Times article about shopping habits</a> from last year? Since reading that article and becoming fascinated by the research behind habit formation, I've spent too many hours examining my own habits, especially those surrounding the food in my life. By shaking up my routine (ever so briefly) I feel like I've been pushed out of a rut I felt stuck in. Although I'm not happy that I attempted doing a cleanse that left me cranky, tired and hungry, I am glad that I now feel better. I hated banishing foods and all are now welcome at our table again. Life is back to normal.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-56325343148138106112013-01-15T12:26:00.001+01:002013-01-15T12:26:58.759+01:00Snow!It snows here so little that I actually enjoy seeing white on the ground in January. Mid-winter snow in the Midwest always felt annoying to me, unless it caused a snow day, which it almost never did. As expected, here in the Netherlands the trains aren't running on schedule, and the traffic jams this morning snaked their way from one corner of the country to the next.<br />
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I, however, am enjoying our short foray into a winter wonderland. We finally had a use for the snowsuit I bought Johanna way back in October (just in case) when we decided to test out the running stroller's handling in the snow this morning. Amsterdam was gorgeous in the pre-dawn quiet, and it reminded me why I don't mind getting dry hands and chapped lips during winter runs. <br />
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Just a quick Instagram photo from my phone today. My computer would probably die if I tried to do something as taxing as uploading an image.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-51147568669208660212013-01-03T12:47:00.000+01:002013-01-03T12:47:12.643+01:00The Steve Jobs DietLast year for Christmas Niek got a copy of the Steve Jobs biography. It took him all of a few days to read, and I think he came away with some more insight into what has made Apple so successful. I have never read it, but the only fact Niek chose to share with me was this: Steve Jobs was a fruitarian. Just fruit, all the time. Apparently, he also believed that his diet prevented him from having body odor, so he didn't wear deodorant. He was wrong about that, by the way, but I guess the people he worked with didn't really want to tell him about it. Maybe they needed one of those deodorgram services.<br />
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For the last few months I've been kicking around the idea of doing a--I still can't believe I'm doing this, because it sounds like something I would never do--diet cleanse once January rolled around. I actually wanted to do it last January, but Johanna was just so young, and I didn't want to do anything too drastic while she was fully dependent on me for her nutritional intake. Multiple injuries in the past year have also made it difficult to get back into a running routine, leaving me feeling pretty disgusted with myself at times. In the past year I've tried a few times just not to eat refined sugars for a given amount of time (a few days at the most), and I never successfully made it more than a day and a half. I wanted to see if I could live without sugar, but it turns out I couldn't. One part of me has absolutely no problem indulging in a treat once a day (or even multiple times a day), but there's another part of me that thinks I should be able to live without processed sugars without feeling like I'm going to go crazy. I like balance in my life, especially when it comes to food. There should be room for all types of food in a balanced diet, and food should bring joy as well as nourishment to our lives. Something, however, has just felt off lately, and I don't feel balanced. Who knows what it is. If I actually knew why my diet felt off-kilter I would just go ahead and change it, but at this juncture I feel the need to take a step back. Here we are, then, willingly choosing to eat a fairly restrictive diet for the next three weeks.<br />
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We're following the suggestions set out in the <a href="http://www.wholeliving.com/152870/2012-whole-living-action-plan" target="_blank">2012 Action Plan</a> from Whole Living. [As an aside, Whole Living has just been dumped by Martha Stewart Omnimedia, and it doesn't look like there's going to be a 2013 Action Plan.] As far as fluffy, wellness-type magazines go, I liked Whole Living pretty well. The Plan is 21 days with a bonus week at the end, although the recipes for week 4 look a lot like what we would eat on any given week, anyway. We started this morning, and while not awful, I am hungry. This week we are eating fruits, vegetables, nuts, seeds and nut oils. Meat, dairy, caffeine, alcohol, gluten, and processed foods are not allowed. During the first week even legumes aren't allowed. I think the lack of protein is what is leaving me feeling hungry; there are only so many nuts I can eat in a day.<br />
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Our friends and family think we are crazy. My mother-in-law almost lost it when I told her coffee was off the table. She offered to bring us a caffeine-free variety. One of Niek's friends, who came over for our Second Christmas pork belly, said that nothing on earth could move him to give up meat and bread for three weeks. My dad made a face every time I brought it up during their stay, and my best friend thinks it sounds unhealthy. I'll keep you posted about how I feel about dabbling in "cleansing" diets as this thing progresses. I'm still not totally sold on the idea, but I'm willing to try it out.<br />
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Ever since Niek agreed to do this with me, he's been making jokes about our "Steve Jobs Diet." While not as restrictive as what a fruitarian eats, it does take some of Niek's favorite food staples (re: bread, bread, cheese and more bread) off the table, so to speak. He jokingly threatened to do it only if he also gave up deodorant for the duration. Dutch people are much more forward than Americans, and Niek isn't the head of a ridiculously successful technology company, so I don't think his colleagues would hesitate to tell him that his diet doesn't prevent odor. Yeah, the rest of our life is staying the same while we consume unnatural levels of squash and sunflower seeds.<br />
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<br />Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-14436171902059839882012-12-28T21:22:00.000+01:002012-12-28T22:28:54.416+01:00Christmas 2012After a few days of gluttony, we're embracing a pared down diet over here. Christmas was, as always, a family affair that rotated around the dinner table. Christmas seemed to sneak up on us this year, and I felt woefully unprepared. Most of the presents were bought a few days before they had to be given out, and we didn't do our meal planning until just before my parents arrived. I choose to blame this on a combination of celebrating Sinterklaas and being busy with things that interest me more than decorating a tree: finishing a free-lance project, reading Slate, getting outside for the few minutes a day that it isn't raining, keeping a toddler from careening to certain injury from the top of the sofa. I'm not a Christmas fanatic, and I am often very glad to live far away from months-long Christmas displays in Target and the custom of putting up the tree on Thanksgiving evening. <br />
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What I totally got behind this year was our Second Christmas (December 26) dinner. We usually celebrate with my parents, who are staying with us, and a few close friends. In the past I've viewed it as a chore, since one of our friends doesn't like seafood and the other doesn't like cheese. Because I tend to shy away from preparing meat, mostly because I am lazy, I've had a difficult time coming up with menus that suit everyone. This generally leaves me a nervous wreck. I also prefer to make fun desserts, although the crowd of meat eaters at our table gets less excited about my efforts than I generally do. <br />
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This year, we did it differently. I nixed the dessert and bought some nice bonbons (insert frowny face for no Holiday baking), and Niek declared we would be roasting pork belly. Pork belly? Where are we going to get a 6 lb. pork belly? It turns out that there is an amazing butcher about five minutes from our house. I must have walked past that place hundreds of times thinking it was nothing special. His display case holds mostly potato salads and a few chickens. Given the modern Dutch penchant for heat-and-serve meals, I wrongly assumed he would not have pork belly. When we walked over there on the Saturday before Christmas, the place was packed. Niek asked the lady behind the counter about our cut of meat, and I heard her shout into the back, "Do we still have pork belly today?" The butcher came out and asked how much we needed. Next thing I knew, he was hoisting almost half a hog onto a back counter and grabbing a sharp knife. Honestly, it's been years since I've been to a real butcher shop, and I've never ordered such a large cut of meat. Even though it was a really simple cut, it was pretty awesome watching him work. We were so excited about our purchase, and we couldn't stop talking about having an actual butcher in our neighborhood. I'm kicking myself for not going in before now. I think that experience is what got me excited for making the meal and entertaining friends.<br />
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Niek did most of the cooking, although I stepped in as sous-chef/baby wrangler throughout the afternoon. Here's Niek getting ready to prep the huge chunk of meat we bought:<br />
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The roasting pan we borrowed from my in-laws barely fit in our oven. Seriously, we had about 1/8" on either side. We were so terrified it wouldn't fit. The recipe we used called for cooking the meat at a high temperature (250 degrees Celsius=482 degrees Fahrenheit) for the first hour in order to create a crispy skin. It certainly worked, but it also created a smokehouse in our living room. Our oven is so small that the meat came closer to the oven's heating elements than we would have preferred. We had expected a bit of smoking but not to the degree we had. All our windows stayed open for about an hour. It was either get a little cold or feel like we were living in a campfire. </div>
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I'm so proud of Niek's cooking abilities. The meat was delicious, says the woman who has no great love for pork. It was, however, a really fatty cut and not one that I would want to eat weekly. For Christmas, though, it hit the spot. I was sad to see the evening end. This is really the first time I felt like I truly embraced the fun of a second Christmas. The 25th was all about my father-in-law's amazing meal--and it certainly was amazing--but the 26th was our chance to relax and have fun in our kitchen. I suppose we'll have to get more adventurous next year, since we now know where to buy our meat.</div>
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Even the toddler had a good time. Did you know giant spoons are more interesting than food?<br />
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Merry Christmas, everyone!Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-67962930409807687312012-12-19T12:48:00.000+01:002012-12-19T12:48:45.912+01:00Winter Blahs... Last night I read a post on a blog about a woman who sits under a light therapy lamp at least once a day all winter long, and I got a little jealous of her miracle lamp. This morning it wasn't truly light outside until almost 9:00 a.m., and as I ran through the streets of Amsterdam in darkness watching kids and their parents heading to school with their bike lamps on, all I could think about was this feeling of winter blah. It hit me early this year. Usually I don't get this way until mid-January, and by that time there are only a few weeks left of nasty darkness before the days become exceptionally longer. Not sure what it is about this year, but we haven't even reached the shortest day yet. I'm almost there, almost there.<div>
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The terrible news about the school shooting has not helped much and has left me quite weepy in the evenings as I listen to NPR's Morning Edition while cooking dinner. Technology has made it so that I can feel connected to American current events and culture even when I would rather bury my head in the sand. </div>
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I've been surprisingly good at keeping the winter food blahs at bay. It's mostly due to my <a href="http://potatoesandyams.blogspot.nl/2012/04/ottolenghi-crazy.html" target="_blank">love of Ottolenghi's</a> <a href="http://webstore.ottolenghi.co.uk/collections/books/products/plenty" target="_blank">vegetarian cookbook</a>. I would shower the world (or at least all of my friends and acquaintances) with his books if I could. I know that I need to broaden my horizons and add a few more cookbooks into the rotation--forlorn Tessa Kiros books on my shelf, I'm thinking of you you--but I can't get enough of his warm and hearty meals. Maybe it's because he lives in London and knows a thing or two about the cold days when the damp seeps in.</div>
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I need to go make some soup and stare at my Christmas tree for a few minutes before I head outside and soak up the few hours of overcast sun that we still have today. Only a few more days until the sun starts staying up longer. </div>
Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-57277145156502962932012-12-06T12:14:00.000+01:002012-12-06T12:14:17.216+01:00Sinterklaas 2012<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Het Sint Nicolasfeest</i>, Jan Steen. Image via Kunst en Cultuur</span></td></tr>
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I was almost certain that I had written something about Sinterklaas before (Feast of St. Nicholas), but glancing through my archives I noticed that there wasn't a post dedicated to it, and I don't have a label for it. How could I have gone so long and remained silent on the subject? The Dutch celebrate Sinterklaas on December 5 (Feast of St. Nicholas Eve). Sinterklaas comes on his white horse with his helper, Zwarte Piet, to deliver gifts to the deserving children of the Low Countries. Yes, I have a problem with the blatant, racist overtones of the black helper to the white saint, although very few people here seem to be troubled by it. If you want to know more about that from an expat's perspective, you can read the Jessica Olien's <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/life/holidays/2011/12/zwarte_piet_holland_s_favorite_racist_christmas_tradition_.single.html#pagebreak_anchor_2" target="_blank">Slate article</a> from last December.<br />
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As a fairly integrated foreigner, I try to roll with the differences in culture without succumbing to or becoming an apologist for the aspects I find less than acceptable. I like to think I do the same with American culture, too, although it is tougher when you're on the inside trying to observe your own sense of identity with a critical eye. I told Niek that we could celebrate Sinterklaas with Johanna if he wanted to, but that I would draw the line at letting her wear a Zwarte Piet costume or ever, ever, ever wearing blackface. Seriously, that is just not going to happen. I'll happily explain to her when she's old enough to understand why it isn't acceptable. <br />
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I think we would have let Sinterklaas pass this year without any sort of celebration if we hadn't been invited to a party at our friends' house. It was a pretty serious affair replete with a visit from Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet themselves. My friend's brother-in-law filled the role of Sinterklaas and her brother happily dressed up to play the part of Zwarte Piet.<br />
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Never have I seen children so excited and terrified all at once. I suppose it's the same mixed bag of reactions you would see at a mall while kids wait to sit on Santa's lap. Just like Santa, he knows whether you've been good or bad, and also just like Santa, he brings you gifts. Instead of elves to do his bidding and manual labor, though, he's got an army of Zwarte Piets to carry his bags, pass out the gifts, and throw (literally throw, as in chucking with full force) handfuls of little cookies and candies to the waiting throngs of children. The last part is what Johanna liked best as she scrambled around the living room picking up the cookies and popping them in her mouth before I could stop her. Sitting on a stranger's lap...yeah, she did not allow that to happen.<br />
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Here's a pic of Piet getting ready to throw the pepernoten (the hard, spice cookies) to the crowd. <br />
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I really am not sure what Johanna thought of the whole operation. This was taken a few moments before her name got called. When Niek brought her closer, she just started wailing. Right there with you, kid. I didn't want to sit on the Sint's lap either, even though I had to.<br />
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Here's Niek showing me how it's done. Good times. All the adults got the traditional chocolate letters. My "D" was pretty delicious.<br />
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Honestly, this is my favorite pictures from the entire day. Sinterklaas, at its heart, is a child-centered holiday, and every parent wants to capture the memories of childhood. With the explosion in popularity of the smartphone has come the instantaneous record keeping of daily life done en masse.<br />
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That was our first Sinterklaas celebration as a family. I still don't know how to broach the subject of Zwarte Piet with the Dutch. For the most part I just look at all the Piet decorations and the Piet costumes with a mixture of awe and irritation. However, I love seeing how excited all the kids get about Sinterklass visiting and their anticipation for the likely gifts they'll receive. The kids were so cute and really bought into the theatrical display of their beloved Sint. I'll have to see how Johanna reacts next year when a towering man in a miter tries to lure her onto his lap with candy and presents.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-19816042495375739642012-12-03T12:17:00.001+01:002012-12-03T12:17:39.457+01:00Thanksgiving 2012<i>**I wrote this post a week ago with the intention of adding the pictures later in the day. Unfortunately my computer had other plans. No pictures for now, but I'd better put the post up about Thanksgiving before we get too deep into December. Besides, I have a Sinterklaas party to blog about. Let's all hope I can post pictures for that one.**</i><br />
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Oh, yes, it was that time of year again already. As always, there was no way to celebrate the holiday on Thursday. This always depresses me a little bit, and I think even more so now that Facebook and Instagram light up with a million posts wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. My mood was also not helped when I stopped in for coffee in my regular café and ended up talking to a Notre Dame fan. The man was obviously American and had a Notre Dame jacket on, so I asked him if he was from Indiana--just to be nice. He was, in fact, but had about three words to say to say to me after learning that I was not from South Bend and not a Notre Dame fan. Ugh, that man only served to reinforce my stereotypes about Fighting Irish fans.<br />
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The rest of the day was fine and busy with prep work. A quick call to my father-in-law that night confirmed that the bird had arrived and was big enough for our group of ten. The only questions in my mind were weather the roasting pan was big enough and if I could just squeak it into the oven. My father-in-law assured me that everything would fit with room to spare. He was half right; it all fit, but I had to take out my oven thermometer to get it to fit.<br />
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I took Martha Stewart's advice this year and did as much prep work before the actual day arrived. She was right, I was less stressed on Saturday, but it didn't dissipate my stress, it merely redistributed it. At least I had help in the kitchen on Friday: two babies (mine and my friend's) and a good friend doing all peeling and chopping that I hate to do.<br />
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And for the first time, I felt very good about the bird. I resisted the urge to take it out early since I, yet again, failed to insert the instant-read thermometer correctly and got a skewed reading of the internal temperature. Fifteen-pound turkeys don't cook in two hours, they just don't, so I turned off the temperature alarm and kept my eyes on the clock. All in all, a great success. I miss my family and friends and get a little homesick, but this year really felt like a Thanksgiving day. Maybe it was the mass chaos caused by the kids, or maybe it's because I feel more at home here now. What's really helped make it feel like Thanksgiving are the massive amounts of leftovers we have in our fridge. I think I may have one more turkey sandwich left in me, and after our turkey soup tomorrow-oh God, there is enough soup for Thursday's dinner--I'll be ready for a break until next November.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-26271038974676061112012-11-21T14:59:00.000+01:002012-11-21T14:59:16.615+01:00Running with a baby in AmsterdamI'm used to seeing all sorts of strange, wheeled conveyances here. I passed a mattress store the other day and saw a special double bike with a trailer bed attached to it for deliveries. You know, it didn't phase me at all. It must mean that I've been here long enough not to be surprised by these sorts of things.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo from <a href="http://www.debeterewereld.nl/rubriek/Wonen_en_leven/2722/Groene_Fiets_van_COCO-MAT_wereldprimeur">www.debeterewereld.nl</a></td></tr>
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Years ago during my first visit to the Netherlands, I ran past a woman on a bicycle and did a double take just to confirm that I actually saw her transporting a newborn baby in a car seat on the back of her bike. All the safety issues popped into my head, and I wondered if it would even be legal to bike with your baby that way in America. What about the helmet laws?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo from <a href="http://www.trotsemoeders.nl/2012/10/30/steco-baby-mee/">trotsemoeders.nl</a></td></tr>
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There must be twenty (or even more) different ways people transport their kids on bikes here. If You have to get from A to B, and if it's too far to walk, you have to find a way on your bike.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two kids? No problem. photo from fietsfabriek.nl</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two kids? Kids and a dog and groceries? Sure. photo from fietsfabriek.nl</td></tr>
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I have even embraced--more than embraced, I absolutely love it--bicycle transport with a baby and cycle all over the city with Johanna in a seat on the front of my bike. All of this is to say that nobody really pays attention to the way kids or goods get transported. </div>
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What, then, is with all the stares I get when I go out with the running stroller? I have the <a href="http://www.bobgear.com/ironman/navy">B.O.B. Ironman</a>. We brought it back as checked luggage when I was 35 weeks pregnant. I would have gladly ordered one here, but I couldn't find a retailer. Running stroller choices here are almost nonexistent. As comfortable as the Dutch are throwing their kids in a wooden box on the front of their bike, they are not fans of putting their kids in a running stroller. However, I've seen people jogging with babies in regular strollers, <a href="http://www.destentor.nl/regio/apeldoorn/11550707/Lekker-hardlopen-met-de-kinderwagen.ece" target="_blank">a sight </a>that makes me cringe as I envision those tiny wheels not being able to handle a turn and then tipping the stroller over.</div>
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Honestly, I thought it was all in my head that people were staring at us. But, no, people really do look at us with an expression of confusion or bewilderment...and point. The pointing is the weirdest, as if to say, "Hey, look at that weirdo mom running with her baby." Maybe it's because I wear a lot of spandexy type pants? It's cold, I wear running tights. Running strollers are incredibly popular in the States (I have been led to believe) and maybe even in other parts of Europe. Why not here? I'm still trying to figure it out, but my guess is that it is a combination of limited space and cost. If you've already invested a lot in an everyday stroller--let me tell you, lots of Amsterdammers own rather expensive, durable strollers--are you prepared to drop even more into a stroller you can only use for running? For suburban, American families with a garage, a running stoller is no big deal. I do wonder if running strollers are popular in the U.S. for urban runners. Our BOB claims some prime real estate in our hallway and does not fit into our tiny car. If I ever meet any other running moms here, I'll have to ask them how they do it and where they stash their kid during a run. My guess is that they leave the kids at home with grandma. I should ask my mother-in-law to retire or just get used to the pointing.</div>
Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-27123335814652944002012-11-19T21:37:00.002+01:002012-11-19T21:37:55.010+01:00Hiatus over?Honestly, it's just really time for the blog hiatus to be over. I think I would feel better if I just got back into some form of writing at least once a week. Are you allowed to come back to a blog after a six-month break? Would it help if I said that I have been suuuuper busy, even if that has not always been true? <br />
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Here is the long and the short of it, which explains why I didn't write a word for so long. I quit grad school and didn't want to talk about it any more than I already had. I was then an unemployed, grad school drop-out and feeling kind of crappy about the whole thing even though I was so much happier than when I was in I-don't-want-to-write-my-dissertation-hell, and I didn't really want to discuss it on the interwebs. I was suffering from some chronic injuries leaving me unable to run or exercise at all, making me sad and feeling gross, which I absolutely did not want to talk about. All this blahness didn't really put me in the mood to cook creatively or make witty observations about life abroad, which is kind of a problem when those were the mainstays of the blog.<br />
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At the start of fall everything finally started coming together, it would seem almost effortlessly, but that would be a lie; there was a lot of effort involved. Still, it was amazing to see all the pieces falling into place. I have a tentative job offer that I am truly excited about. (Hello, full-time employment, I'm so excited to be reacquainted with you!) My injuries, although still present and accounted for, are settling down and giving me a few good, albeit short--so horribly short--runs every week. And, obviously, fall cooking is in full swing. My favorite time of year to cook has come once again. It's a good thing my toddler girl likes roasted vegetables is all I'm saying on the subject right now.<br />
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Anyway, time to get back to a bit of cooking and a bit of blogging. Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-16816917262092247462012-05-30T23:10:00.002+02:002012-05-30T23:10:43.443+02:00Things I love about the Netherlands...Fava beans are just a regular veggie that you can find in the frozen food section of any supermarket.<br />
Name in Dutch: tuinboontjes (little garden beans). I've seen them fresh at the grocer, but I was in a hurry today.<br />
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It's gloriously warm, and I feel like salads for dinner almost every night. This one I thought would be easy, and for the most part it was, until I realized I would need to shell each individual bean. As I stood in my kitchen for twenty minutes spitting flat beans out of their waxy coating while simultaneously trying to entertain a teething baby, I completely understood why some people prefer to eat fast food every night. Enough with this whole foods movement, let's go get some french fries.</div>
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But then it all just came together: the lemon slices, the crisp radish bits, the creamy avocado, and yes, those hearty fava beans. Even the baby seemed to appreciate the effort, diving into the salad with gusto. I felt so happy. Thanks, Amsterdam, for making my dinner enjoyable tonight.</div>
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<br /></div>Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-14445355852714953282012-05-26T22:39:00.004+02:002012-05-26T22:39:58.382+02:00Dutch Barbeque<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A friend of ours called this week to invite us over for barbeque. You never know how long the summer is going to last here. If it's warm, you'd better get your white beers on the patio in while you can, because the rainy, fall weather could start before you know it. We don't have a yard, and I'm not dedicated enough to the art of grilling to lug supplies to a nearby park. I'm so lucky that one of our friends lives to grill in the summertime and also that he has a backyard to unwind in. <br />
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Barbeques are meat-heavy affairs here. Not that they aren't in the U.S., but you're pretty much out of luck here if you're a vegetarian. At least in the U.S. you stand a chance of finding some potato salad or maybe even some vegetable kebabs. At a Dutch barbeque I have been offered hamburgers (which are more like sausage patties), chicken kebabs, bratwurst, and pork chops. Get ready for animal protein overload. It's all delicious, but it's not something I can handle more than a few times a year. I suppose that's why I find it such a treat; it feels so decadent and slightly irresponsible of me to eat such a protein-dense meal.<br />
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While the meat may take center stage, it would really be nothing without the important lineup of condiments. Forget your standard ketchup and mustard (although those were on the table, too). It was time to get crazy with garlic cream sauce and satay. Everything gets dipped in the sauces, absolutely everything. I'm not joking, you dip every bite in a sauce.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear God, whatever you do, don't forget to serve bread.</td></tr>
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I realized once we got Johanna to sleep that this was the first evening we've been out with friends past eight o' clock since our baby was born. Does that make me boring or responsible? I do love that we still had the requisite cup of coffee/tea after dinner and that it was served with stroopwafels and gevulde koek (cookies filled with almond paste).</div>
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Probably one of my favorite moments of the night: our friend's dad starting the fire in the outdoor stove with a blowtorch. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brings new meaning to the slogan,"be prepared," doesn't it?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, we were not cold.</td></tr>
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What an amazing start to our three-day weekend. It's Pentecost here tomorrow, which means we have Monday free for Second Pentecost Day. Hope the sun is shining wherever you are.<br /><br />Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-1178681404212954272012-05-17T22:18:00.000+02:002012-05-17T22:18:15.166+02:00RIP, my dear converterWhen you decide to move to another country and you also decide to ship <i>all</i> of your kitchen appliances to the aforementioned new country, there is absolutely one essential piece of equipment that you must purchase: a converter. I'm not talking about those little, adapter thingies you buy at Target before going on a trip. You can slap those on your cell phone charger and gleefully plug it in willy nilly all over Europe. When I studied abroad in Germany, I thought an adapter was all I needed to get my hairdryer to work. Guess who may have started a small fire and ruined a nice hairdryer? <br />
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For appliances like my Kitchen-Aid and my Cuisinart, I've relied heavily on a converter. The thing weighs about as much as I do and takes up some prime real estate on my kitchen counter. It has done its job well, so I don't complain much when I have to lift it to clean (which I do just about never). Unfortunately, it's been quite sick these last few months, and I'm afraid that it's finally given up. It's bought the farm and is probably frolicking through the open spaces of transformer heaven, relieved to no longer work long hours as the Crock-Pot hums or to convert all that energy while the mixer paddles swirl around. <br />
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So long, my invaluable sidekick. *sigh* Time to get a new one.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-7012931245342952622012-05-09T12:14:00.000+02:002012-05-09T12:14:23.810+02:00Seriously, I have a lentil addictionWe've been looking for different types of protein to feed Johanna lately. I seem to have handled daily life pretty well with minimal protein, but those nurses at the doctor's office really like to scare new parents into thinking that their children are all horribly malnourished. I was told last week that she's old enough for meat and was handed a list of acceptable foods. Since we're not huge meat eaters--and I don't want my child to wast away to an anemic nothingness--we've gone a little crazy with the legumes. Yes, it absolutely has something to do with Yotam Ottolenghi, but I really think it's because the "legume" aisle at the Moroccan grocers just looks so beautiful. I want to take every variety of lentil home and put them in gorgeous jars on a shelf (note to self: buy gorgeous, glass cannisters...and a shelf). <br />
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As a huge departure from the typical Dutch bread party that lunch tends to be, here is a lunch around these parts recently. Red lentil and cheese wedges with veggie and fruit slices.<br />
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I even made hummus this week, because I happened to have dried chickpeas laying around. The chickpeas were left over from my disastrous attempt to make falafel a few weeks ago (seriously, what is up with our middle eastern cuisine kick?). I'm not sure I'm cut out for frying food. Every time I'm supposed to cook something in a large vat of oil, it ends in disaster. So glad the hummus only required the food processor.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-77889713820593062482012-05-01T11:40:00.000+02:002012-05-01T11:40:08.091+02:00Koninginnedag 2012Yesterday was Queen's Day, a day marked by orange-clad, drunken Dutch people wandering the streets of Amsterdam. Although our baby wanted to join the crowds in the center, we put our foot down and decided to enjoy the first amazing day of weather in other ways. I did the mom thing and dressed Johanna in Dutch colors. Here she is eyeing our oranjetompoes (thousand layer cake with orange frosting). The tompoes comes from the HEMA, the Dutch equivalent of Target. I told Niek that I wanted to embrace the tradition and buy a slice. Stauch defender of republicanism that I am, I can't quite explain my enjoyment of a holiday celebrating the House of Orange. Can you really say no to the tradition of buying a piece of cake--and a surprisingly good piece of cake to boot? Slicing the tompoes in two was about as close as I came to cooking all day. We had places to be! Oh wait, Niek sliced the cake for us...<br />
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Because...wait for it...we finally made it to the bulb fields! Every spring we have said we would go, and there's always been a reason we didn't make it. Yesterday, everything just came together, including the weather, and we hopped in the car. In less than half an hour we found ourselves driving along seas of vibrant colors. Honestly, it really is an amazing site. It looks like someone spray painted fields with swaths of bright colors.<br />
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Years ago a friend of mine, who was living in London at the time, invited me to fly over and meet her in the Netherlands just to visit the bulb fields. I can't tell you how disappointed I was then when I couldn't make it. I've had Niek's friends scoff at my desire to see the fields. They think of it as something tourists do. Yeah, I'm okay with that. We joined all the other tourists in taking the requisite picture in a field of blooming flowers.<br />
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It was definitely the last weekend to enjoy the tulips. The flowers were really open, and some of the fields had already been cleared of the flowers. The flowers have to be cut away from the plant in order to make the bulbs salable. I wanted to say that the plants are deflowered, but no, that isn't the right word. The plants are topped and then look like this:<br />
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We saw a lot of farmers out in the fiels topping their plants. How much do you want to bet that the two boys in the cart were less than thrilled to be spending their Koninginnedag working? At least they're wearing orange.<br />
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When we drove past a daffodil field, I made Niek stop the car so I could jump out and take a picture. <br />
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Most of the hyacinth fields were definitely past their most beautiful point. We did see these still in bloom. Can you even imagine the amazing smell? The air was so sweet with the fragrance of hyacinths.<br />
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So that was our Queen's Day this year. We would have stayed longer, but Johanna was less enthusiastic about the outing than I was. No matter. We can return next year.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-86219143992039948292012-04-25T13:48:00.002+02:002012-04-25T13:48:53.570+02:00Ottolenghi CrazyWe are experiencing a bit of an Ottolenghi obsession in this house at the moment. I don't consider this to be a bad thing. If you aren't familiar with Yottam Ottolenghi's cookbooks, his column in the Guardian (on which <i>Plenty</i> is based), or his London restaurants, I highly suggest poking around various websites and getting to know his food. It's with a tinge of regret that I didn't call enough in advance for reservations at his restaurant the last time we were in London.<br />
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The recipes seem to be filling a need for our general food cravings: lots of pulses (chickpeas, lentils, and beans), aromatic spices, and complementary layers of simple ingredients. Listen to me, sounding as if I ever in my life used the word pulses to refer to beans--must be the Ottolenghi wearing off on me. Maybe it's because we've been in that no man's land of fresh ingredients, otherwise known as early spring. The beginning of asparagus season this month has signalled a turning point, but the month preceding it was hard for us. We've drawn a lot of inspiration from the cookbooks.<br />
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Our favorite recipe so far has got to be the <a href="http://gu.com/p/23zdm">Quinoa Salad with Dried Iranian Lime</a>. Alas, no dried limes to find here in Amsterdam--we're substituting lime juice and lime zest. If you're in L.A. and you want to know where to get them, I've got a few addresses for you. I lived in The Valley (the San Fernando Valley to you non-Southland people) for a few years, and the gigantic Persian market in Van Nuys was probably one of the greatest redeeming values of living "so far" from all of my friends. This recipe has appeared twice on our menu in the last week-and-a-half, despite the extra effort of going to the super-chic supermarket for the orange sweet potatoes, honestly really worth the extra step. Besides, the youngest member of our family has really gotten into sweet potatoes. As you can see, the eggplant from the <a href="http://gu.com/p/xjay9">soba noodle salad</a> has also been a hit with the younger crowd.<br />
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Lots of changes going on in the house at the moment. A growing baby, making some travel plans, making some choices about a career move. It's all been a little overwhelming, but when doesn't life seem to be really full. I will say that it feels like with the arrival of spring, life (and cooking) has become more manageable. Maybe I just needed some more sunlight. Well, I've got my wish; the sun rises here a little after 6:00 a.m. and sets well after 8:00 p.m. This is good for me but not so great for a baby, who hates to go to sleep. We finally broke down and ordered a massive black-out shade for our bedroom window. Whatever keeps us rested and sane, right?<br />
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Now go make some Ottolenghi recipes. You can thank me later.</div>Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-33281105111854557002012-03-21T12:46:00.004+01:002012-03-21T12:47:36.790+01:00Corned Beef, or notYou know, every year I think I'm going to write this amazing post about St. Patrick's Day. It would involve me finding delicious corned beef somewhere within the city limits of Amsterdam. To a Dutchman, corned beef looks like this:<br />
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I'm not even sure what that product is made out of, but it is certainly not what I expect corned beef to look like. Niek even enjoyed eating it on his sandwiches until I took him to a Jewish deli in Indianapolis and forever after made him sad that we live so far away from things like rye chips and kosher pickles. [As an aside, I found a Jewish deli in Amsterdam and am planning a trip soon.] Corned beef and cabbage is not a dish I have often eaten, but my mom made it a handful of times for St. Patrick's day when I was a kid. Every year I figure, why not celebrate a completely historically inaccurate, over-the-top holiday with a little meat and cabbage? Why not, indeed.<br />
I've taken slight issue with the holiday ever since I wrote my first history paper in college on the biography of St. Patrick. Up until that point I had no idea that the real St. Patrick went by the name Patricius and considered himself a Roman on the fringes of the Empire. All that driving the snakes out of Ireland lore had to wait for the hagiographers High Middle Ages. That suddenly sounds like a cool job to me, a hagiographer. I'm just imagining some monk closeted away in a monastery trying to figure out how he could make the lives of the saints more interesting. Creative writing is a challenge no matter what century you live in. Anyway, I'm really fine with the evolution of a saint's day becoming the day people wear green, get three sheets to the wind and regret their hangovers the next day.<br />
However, looking into this corned beef and cabbage tradition has added a new element to the whole American interpretation of St. Patty's Day. Maybe it's also the reason I can't find corned beef here. It is apparently not considered an Irish dish at all. Maybe Continental Europeans have no use for the stuff, either. I'm ashamed to admit I didn't know what the "corned" in the beef actually meant until I looked it up for this post. Can we all breathe a sigh of relief that I own a copy of <i>McGee on Food & Cooking</i>? Whew, now I know that the "corn" refers to the large grains of salt used during the preservation process. I also had no idea that corned beef was an important export product from Ireland during the early-modern period (shame on me, the Early-Modernist for not knowing that), although it was the English colonists in Ireland calling the shots at the time. Raising beef for export meant less space to grow crops for the colonized inhabitants. I think we can all agree it's the Irish did not feel like they were getting a fair shake from the ruling English. So, yeah, corned beef not as Irish as this American girl seemed to think that it was. <br />
St. Patrick's Day was not acknowledged anywhere I could see. It was just another Saturday in Amsterdam, although I was horribly disappointed to miss a sour beer festival on Saturday night. That would have been awesome, but you know, babies tend to be cared for. Time enough next year for the sour beer festival. And, no, I didn't find any corned beef. Sad, I know. I took a <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2012/03/14/potato_leek_soup_recipe_with_caramelized_leeks_and_homemade_stock.html">Slate article's advice and made potato leek soup</a> instead. Potatoes we have in abundance. Thanks, New World, for giving Ireland the potato and in a really roundabout way making me feel like I celebrated the life of a Roman missionary.<br />
<br />Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-61906840577044897612012-03-13T22:11:00.001+01:002012-03-13T22:11:53.120+01:00ProximityThis past weekend we had friends stay with us for a visit. We know them from Los Angeles, but they are currently in Paris for work. I e-mailed an open invitation to stay with us if they had time to get away, and before I knew it they on our doorstep. Weekends like this are one of the reasons I am forever grateful that we have a spare bedroom (a luxury for Amsterdam). What our flat lacks in ambiance--no views of 17th century canals here--it more than makes up for in square footage. <br />
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We had a great time together, and even Johanna got a bit of socializing in. Babies discovering the existence of other babies is an entertaining site:<br />
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We had some very simple dinners, since no one was up for big cooking projects with babies in need of a lot of attention. Can I add that I got to have an almond croissant on Saturday for my breakfast thanks to our incredibly generous friends? We managed to get everyone out of the house while coordinating the needs of two small beings operating on different schedules. That is no mean feat, I assure you. On Sunday, there was even enough warmth and sunshine to enjoy the first spring beer outside. <br />
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More importantly, check out the special treat our friends brought for us:<br />
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Yes, yes, macaroons are hot right now. Have they surpassed the cupcake yet as the dessert du jour? I've had macaroons here, and they've generally fallen flat. They're either too gooey or too damn sweet. These, however, from <i>the</i> macaroon store in Paris were heavenly. Ladurée keeps the standard flavors around but also is not afraid to get a little more experimental and creative. The macaroons on the left were chestnut and pear, apparently a new flavor. My favorite was the violet, but the cherry, rosewater, cassis, and salted caramel were all also amazing. <br />
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Paris is about a five-hour drive from here (unless you have a baby that needs to be fed/changed/comforted), which is relatively close. Parisian treats, however, are a world away. <br />Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-6414391042905158282012-03-02T15:47:00.001+01:002012-03-02T15:47:24.729+01:00"proud to be an American..."I suppose I should never complain again about not being able to find root beer here. I wonder if anyone ever buys this. <br />
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With a name like Stars and Stripes I bet you can just taste the flag.<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2oKfISSNCMS6z1DCNiExEETMm2-th3v7oYLLloyGQFtmetnMST-AxTQwQWRa6DLbn94tgIvKqKLSEOcIhKKZaiRspFKCxVT1EyYNFQ3C4FExGQ3PHNXg-PCFkHKfDHb32dhqIIH76axDs/s640/blogger-image--1312713101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2oKfISSNCMS6z1DCNiExEETMm2-th3v7oYLLloyGQFtmetnMST-AxTQwQWRa6DLbn94tgIvKqKLSEOcIhKKZaiRspFKCxVT1EyYNFQ3C4FExGQ3PHNXg-PCFkHKfDHb32dhqIIH76axDs/s640/blogger-image--1312713101.jpg" /></a></div>Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-14445785021670771132012-03-01T14:55:00.002+01:002012-03-01T17:54:46.411+01:00Pea Soup<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrS1VQ5sKb0jSJ3xcWYQj8MuQ4w4e5dNmIpyHsTWV1TFOEeTN6QA6KEWEeRer88z6OZDWRa8f3FCiEMHr5FHa4EQAHimaVjAAvxIlEPSjmwo4LdysYv18bIBlE3WOipI5wnQfBm7Ype5W/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-03-01+at+11.01.50+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrS1VQ5sKb0jSJ3xcWYQj8MuQ4w4e5dNmIpyHsTWV1TFOEeTN6QA6KEWEeRer88z6OZDWRa8f3FCiEMHr5FHa4EQAHimaVjAAvxIlEPSjmwo4LdysYv18bIBlE3WOipI5wnQfBm7Ype5W/s400/Screen+shot+2012-03-01+at+11.01.50+AM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="right"><td class="tr-caption">image from <a href="http://www.unox.nl/nl/ons-unox/het-weer-unox-weer-erwtensoep">Unox</a></td></tr>
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It's pretty impossible to live in the Netherlands and not take notice of what can be considered a national dish. I think there is a soft spot in the collective Dutch soul for pea soup (<i>erwtensoep</i> or <i>snert</i> in Dutch). It's inevitable, every winter up go the ads for Unox (a brand falling under that behemoth known as Unilever) pea soup. Unox also produces the most popular brand of rookworst (sausage) in the Netherlands. As you can see in the ad above, Unox marries the two products quite well to one another. While its quite evident that pea soup is beloved here, it's not entirely clear to me why it's this soup in particular that can be thought of as Dutch. <br />
While digging around the internet, <a href="http://www.coquinaria.nl/recepten/03.5histrecept.htm">this site</a> explained that pea soup was used during lent in the Netherlands as a substitute for meat-based stews and bouillons. I'm no food historian, so I can't say whether that was the case in other parts of Europe, but it would certainly make sense to create a nutrient dense and plant-based food during that all important season of abstention. It makes me think of the Starkbiere festival in Bavaria, historically created to add extra calories to diets lacking in meat during a time of year when there was very little in the way of non-animal foodstuffs. Why don't Americans have fun late winter traditions like this? Who wouldn't want to get crazy drunk with a bunch of friends while wearing Lederhosen and listening to polka music? Too many Protestants? I'm digressing, and besides, the Netherlands has had plenty of somber Calvinists who don't pay attention to Lent. Furthermore, do you see the amount of pork in that bowl of soup? Nothing meat free about it. While some form of the dish may have had its roots in days of yore, the current variation is heavy on the pig.<br />
I love this drawing from an internment camp in Indonesia during WWII. In it women are serving, among other things, pea soup to the camp inhabitants. That such a heavy, winter dish had its place in what was most likely a hot and humid camp. Then again, I think they took what they could get and most certainly would not have been dissatisfied.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSuhKYqZVzQoe4UCh7gly1Ah6Oek11Dwn7kEV5PUzJ4QZcB8evHVOEfEZnE-7TA7n7WSnwNiuT_Q12hKDKAZdXKpW0wKosh8P8L7UGto6FIDE3xeZZPt5QkH-0EISmSDZf80L0R33YWMn/s1600/f3321b998709aa270512f5447c51ed2b27fd5050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSuhKYqZVzQoe4UCh7gly1Ah6Oek11Dwn7kEV5PUzJ4QZcB8evHVOEfEZnE-7TA7n7WSnwNiuT_Q12hKDKAZdXKpW0wKosh8P8L7UGto6FIDE3xeZZPt5QkH-0EISmSDZf80L0R33YWMn/s400/f3321b998709aa270512f5447c51ed2b27fd5050.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="right"><td class="tr-caption">image from <a href="http://www.geheugenvannederland.nl/?/nl/items/MUSE01:521/&p=1&i=16&st=Grondelle%20Corrie%20van&sc=%28cql.serverChoice%20all%20Grondelle%20%20AND%20Corrie%20%20AND%20van%29%20AND%20%28isPartOf%20any%20%22MUSE01%22%20%29/&wst=%22Grondelle%20Corrie%20van%22">Het Geheugen van Nederland</a></td></tr>
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I'm actually surprised at myself for not making pea soup sooner. When I was a kid, I remember my mom making it. I don't remember why, but one time we had a ham bone at home, and she used that to make the soup. Here, too, traditional recipes call for a ham bone or pigs feet. If I knew a good butcher, I might have made the effort to find the pigs feet, but I honestly didn't want to go to the trouble. Instead, I went the vegetarian route. Thanks, <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/vegetarian-split-pea-soup-recipe.html">101 Cookbooks blog</a>. <br />
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Besides, pea soup is typically served with a very dense rye bread and a fatty cut of cured pork known as <i>katenspek</i>. It's a great accompaniment to the somewhat sweet flavor of the peas. I can't imagine having the meat on the side plus <i>worst</i> in the soup. I'm Episcopalian, after all--the vegetarian soup with a side of meat feels like a good compromise for Lent.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1840850461215102383.post-14121627795300981282012-02-22T22:14:00.000+01:002012-02-22T22:14:54.508+01:00Any excuse to use my ramekinsAlthough my pasta in cream sauce last week was a bust, the creamy chicken pot pies I made did not disappoint. My brother-in-law and his girlfriend came over for dinner last week, so I felt like we needed to make something other than pasta or frozen pizzas (both insanely popular choices for us two sleep-deprived souls). I keep checking the weather every morning, and in case you're wondering, yes it's still cold outside. Cold weather means my go-to entertaining recipes require the use of the crock-pot or the oven. Chicken pot pies, I thought, would be a good choice, and they're "easy." <br />
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The chicken pot pies of my youth came frozen in single serving boxes. Usually my mom would heat one up for me on nights they were going out. I loved them even though I almost always burned my tongue in my impatience, probably because they were mini. While I could make this recipe in a large casserole dish, it would really take something away from the novelty of an individual serving. That is why I truly love my ramekins. I bought the ramekins not even knowing what I would make in them, but I just couldn't resist their cuteness. Someday I'll make crème brûlée, someday. Until then, there's chicken pot pie to be baked...<br />
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It still surprises me when I make meal so deeply ingrained in my American cultural context, and it seems foreign to those around me. A chicken pot pie, everyone knows what that is, right? Of course, this one is slightly different from the Swanson pies we kept in the deep freeze. The Dutch make all sorts of baked dinners, <i>ovenschotels</i> as they are categorized. A stewed oven dish is something they've seen hundreds of times, but I think it's the biscuit topping that throws them for a loop. Even though they love their buttermilk--have I mentioned before that my drink choices at Dutch history conferences usually consist of milk or buttermilk?--they don't seem to cook or bake with it at all. Maybe it's because they also don't really use baking powder or baking soda? For whatever reason, biscuity things are a novelty to our guests.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49VoCWFTJHAmB95YlOIwxEeava5GamQfNHDK1j-Zkwm5XkaWo1kP0t9XahkkF1ZrvoxtBXKWF_rH-XjxfCJHG7FDT0vGwYZgHg3d_zE4fvODtABpYA4_XjaOOCxuFMNPccVbvvEG7hOFa/s1600/IMG_1936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49VoCWFTJHAmB95YlOIwxEeava5GamQfNHDK1j-Zkwm5XkaWo1kP0t9XahkkF1ZrvoxtBXKWF_rH-XjxfCJHG7FDT0vGwYZgHg3d_zE4fvODtABpYA4_XjaOOCxuFMNPccVbvvEG7hOFa/s400/IMG_1936.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
So glad they were a success. Staring at that picture makes me want to make them again, and that might yet happen. We've still got plenty of chilly days left on the calendar.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14137207492303218465noreply@blogger.com4