by jodi ~ February 8, 2010
Derelict shed in alleyway behind Brooklyn Avenue, Leslieville
It was time for a new look.
Cursive Mechanics will be four years old later this year, and it was beginning to show its age. It wasn’t a derelict space by any means, but it did need updating to reflect the content evolution that has taken place since the first post went live way back in August 2006.
That evolution has seen my lifelong love of food and cooking take centre stage in my writing and photography. This means I’ve been posting some recipes, yes, but more than that I find myself compelled to tell food stories.
For me each ingredient, dish, and technique has a story; each is also either tied to a memory or creates a new one. A deep appreciation for food — its origins, its preparation, its rituals of consumption — bridges me to my past (I come from a line of farmers, adept home cooks, and food traditionalists) and connects me to a present and future I am in always in the process of creating, one that centres on savouring moments amidst a busy twenty-first-century life. Accordingly, the new site design, particularly the page header, lets visitors know that food and the stories that accompany it to the plate are my passion and what I write about most often these days.
Some other site changes you’ll notice:
- There are fewer posts on the front page, but you’ll find a handy archiving system in the right sidebar. It provides the titles of other recently published posts (plus a link to a fancily indexed full-site archive) and a visual recap of posts in the Photo Friday and Recipes categories.
- I tweet, and I’ll admit it: I find it kind of fun. If you chirp away on Twitter too and are so inclined, please follow me — you’ll find my microblogging coordinates at the top of the left sidebar. There are also links at the bottom of each post that make it easy to share my content via social-networking sites.
- Some people have declared this blogging thing over, but I still read my stable of favourite online writers faithfully. I’ve organized my regular reading into three categories in a long-overdue blogroll in the left sidebar. There I introduce you to the food writers I love and some all-around interesting people doing and writing about cool things. You’ll also see links for some of my friends who also host their own blogs on a variety of topics.
- Last but not least is the overall look of the site itself. This makeover is entirely the result of hard, patient work by my partner, Michael. His claim that we could flip my old site into a new design in about 45 minutes turned into a several-weeks-long project that included difficult data imports, much fretting about a suitable header photo, and me, well, freaking out at high-pitched levels more than a few times (Why are the photos not aligning left?!; Why are the comments not showing up?!; Why are the posts out of order?!). Perhaps my favourite element of the redesign is the use of Garamond as the typeface for the main text. A venerable old serif font, I have a weak spot for it, and Michael put it on the page knowing it’d be the perfect choice.
So welcome to Cursive Mechanics, or welcome back if you’ve been here before. I hope you enjoy the new environs — let us know what you think.
In the meantime, be well and eat well.
by jodi ~ January 15, 2010
Pastéis de nata (Portuguese custard tarts)
I say “natas”; you say “custard tarts.” We’re both right and they’re one of the simplest, most delicious pastries around. You’ll find a little history behind this popular sweet and tasting notes on natas from some Toronto bakeries in my “A Tart for All-Comers” piece published over at TasteT.O. this week.
by jodi ~ January 11, 2010
Celebrating Grandma and Grandpa’s birthdays, Christmas 2009
This December, my grandparents turned 81 (grandma, on December 21) and 87 (grandpa, on December 24). On Christmas Day, when we sang the birthday song and watched them together blow out the candles on their banana-chocolate-walnut chiffon cake — my grandmother’s recipe, my uncle, the baker, told us — they were barely two weeks into living their new life at a seniors’ home in Windsor, Ontario. With my grandfather continuing to weaken with age and the effects of the stroke he had nearly a decade ago and my grandmother grappling with the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease, the time had come for them to move into a managed-care facility.
Moving them has meant weeding through a lifetime of their accumulated belongings, as there are so many things they simply no longer need. In particular, almost none of their kitchen ware made the move, as they now take meals in the home’s dining room three times a day. What an experience it was to see what was hiding in those cupboards and closets. Tablecloths and aprons hand-embroidered by my grandmother and great-grandmother. Kitchen utensils dating back to the late forties. Dishes and serving pieces I remember ogling through the window of the china cabinet as a child and handling so gingerly when they were brought out for celebration dinners.
Perhaps the most thrilling discovery was my grandmother’s handwritten recipe books. One was a journal of the dinners she planned and cooked at the church she and my grandfather attended for years. After the title of each event — there were weddings, funerals, bazaars, and religious feast days — came a shopping list of the varying pounds of ingredients needed to make crowd-sized supplies of creamed chicken, perogies, cabbage rolls, and other traditional fare. The other volume, supplemented with handfuls of loose-leafed index cards, was a collection of the dishes she prepared regularly at home. My mom and I, leafing through the pages, stumbled on the very chiffon cake and icing recipe my uncle has prepared for my grandparents’ birthday just days before.
For me the find felt destined, as I have spent the past year trying to recall from memory and learn from my mom and her siblings our definitive family recipes. Those recipes, and the stories that accompany them, are the heirlooms that mean the most to me, and I want to collect them, savour them, and share them. That I can hold the original sources in my hands I consider no small opportunity.
At first this photo of my grandparents made me feel sad; it’s a reminder that they are no longer the vigorous and tireless couple I remember from my youth. But now, when I look at them kissing over a cake that my grandmother used to make, that my uncle now does, and that other family cooks will continue to make as time marches on, I see celebration. Of life and love and a culinary heritage that will outlive us all.
