A whole lot o' nothing. And then some….

As many of you know, I am often sent stuff to review on my site. As many of you may not know, I only review the stuff I actually like. Yes, I’ll diss something lame, but not if it’s sent over gratis. That’s just rude.

Last week a box arrived from Kiwi Crate.. Y’know when you’re done? You don’t want to play, you don’t want to fight over not-playing, and you don’t really want to reach for the remote (even though you know you will)? This is for those times. Kiwi Crate sends your 3-7 year old a monthly activity box filled with environmentally-friendly, crafty projects your child can do – with or without you.

Ours came addressed to my almost-5 year old and he was immediately intrigued. As well he should be! When we opened this little shoebox a world of wonder – no joke – lay inside. And by “wonder” I mean a serious time killer, in the best possible way.

My guy immediately got to work on decorating a reusable bag. Everything he/we needed was the box: flower/leaves for printmaking, washable ink, the reinforced paper bag, putty to make his own stamper. He wouldn’t let me help even if I wanted to.

Box o fun!

This wasn’t your ordinary do-it-yourself stamp pad. With this he actually fashioned the stamper and – get this – when he was done he peeled off the tiny wildflower, poked a hole in the top of the “stamp” and let it dry. Voila: a necklace!

But the fun didn’t stop there. He was obsessed. And this is a boy who doesn’t sit still. Ever. Unless there are animated characters on a screen in front of him. The next morning he was up early, making his own paper.

While the greeting cards didn’t quite work out – because he refused to let me help him – making a mess of coloured stuff that looked and felt like paper was equally exciting. There’s a handy help-o-meter attached to each project, just so you know what you’re getting into. In our case, there was minimal adult involvement required (and none available) and it still worked out. And just when you think you/your child is done, they even throw in some extra low-maintenance ideas if you’re ever looking to get crafty.

They do single crates, party favor crates, even a “no-fight” sibling add-on option. And, until May 12th, they do discounts! Take advantage of our very own special MOAM reader offer: 25% off the first month of a new subscription (not valid on sibling add-ons) by entering Promo Code “maven25″ at www.kiwicrate.com

At $220 for an annual subscription, or $19.95/month, it ain’t cheap. But having your child amuse him/herself in a creative way for a solid couple of hours? That’s priceless.

Readers, I apologize. It’s been many months since my last Book Club. But don’t fret. We’ve had a long Canadian winter, and I’ve read a shitload of books. Herewith, quite a few of the faves.

(and yes, Virginia, you can buy them directly from this site, right here, right now. Simply click on the image of book!)

BRING UP THE BODIES
WOLF HALL
by Hilary Mantel
These are two massive historical novels. These are two Booker winners. These are two beyond brilliant stories about Thomas Cromwell before and during the reign of King Henry VII – and Anne Boleyn. They’ll have you puzzled: everyone’s named Thomas. They’ll have you intimidated – page count is way past what’s comfortable. They’ll have you googling up a storm – unless you know your Tudors from your Stuarts. They’ll leave you breathless.

CANADA by Richard Ford
The year is 1960. When his parents are arrested after a bank robbery gone wrong, a 15-year old boy goes on the lam…to Canada. Fans of Richard Ford will love this epic sweeper of a story. And those who aren’t fans yet, will be when they finish this lyrical novel about a family falling apart.

THE ART OF FIELDING by Chad Harbach
A baseball novel about a surprising college star. Twists, turns, and so much more than bats, balls and gloves.And boys. It was a riveting read and I couldn’t put it down. (And yes, I’m surprised I loved it too!)

THE SONG OF ACHILLES by Madeline Miller
Who doesn’t love a good Greek Myth? To know and love the Greek Gods is to know and love all their infighting and sexual escapades. This is a new twist on the story of Achilles and the Trojan War. Modern tone, classic tale. Fabulous.

WHERE’D YOU GO, BERNADETTE? by Maria Semple
15-year-old Bee’s mom is a freak: an artist, a genius, a Seattle-loather. When she disappears on the eve of a trip to Antarctica to celebrate Bee’s straight-A average, Bee is determined to track her down. Hilarious. Original. Quirky. Unconventional. Don’t wait for the film (yes, it’s being adapted).

SWEET TOOTH by Ian McEwan
It’s the ’70′s. A love-torn Cambridge student drops out to join British Intelligence. Espionage. Cold War. Romance. Seduction. Cultural warfare?? It’s a page-turner. And it’s Ian McEwan. It can’t get much better than this.

ONE LAST THING BEFORE I GO -Jonathan Tropper
Jonathan Tropper kills me. And while this isn’t his best, he has such a way with words. And his characters? Too much. This time it’s a rock star. Or, rather, a has-been drummer, who is now broke, down on his luck and require life-saving surgery. The man who can save his life is his ex-wife’s fiancee and his somewhat estranged Princeton-bound daughter is pregnant. He’s got a lot to deal with. If he makes it.

THE SUBMISSION by Amy Waldman
An anonymous submission process for a memorial to victims of a terrorist attack results in the selection of a mysterious Muslim-American architect. A timely post-9/11 novel for a divided country. It divided readers too, though I thought it was fantastic, moving and super sharp.

THE END OF YOUR LIFE BOOK CLUB by Will Schwalbe
When journalist Will Schwalbe’s extraordinary and dynamic mother is diagnosed with cancer, they bond over books during during her chemo treatments. Sounds hokey, but this is a truly inspiring and lovely memoir about a mother, her son, and the power of reading.

THE TWELVE TRIBES OF HATTIE by Ayana Mathis
Hattie escapes Georgia for a better life up north. This book starts in the 1920′s with the birth of her first children. It’s a devastating start to a devastating life. Each chapter is told from the point of view of subsequent children. Bleak, dark, and beautifully written, Oprah claimed it for her book club, and I’m claiming it for mine.

TIGERS IN RED WEATHER by Liza Klaussmann
Two cousins, so close they’re like sisters. Or are they? One follows her WW2 vet husband to steamy Florida. The other heads off to Hollywood. Over the course of 12 years we follow them as their dreams unfold and disappear, until they eventually reunite, children in tow, at the family beach house where there’s been a murder. Melodrama at its finest.

THE WORLD WITHOUT YOU by Joshua Henkin
A clan gathers to remember a fallen son, a journalist killed in action in Iraq. Identity crises abound and secrets spill as the parents try to deal with the future of their marriage, the sisters try to understand who they’ve become and the widow tries to contemplate her future. Classic American family drama…at the cottage.

And, for those looking for some simple beach reads, these are a sliver above the usual cheese. Fluffy, yes, but a little over-identification goes a long way when it comes to quick ‘n easy reads!

BEAUTIFUL RUINS by Jess Walter
Starts in Italy in the ’60′s, where a young Italian fisherman meets falls a glamorous American actress. Meanwhile, 50 years later, the story, and several others, continue in Hollywood…

PROSPECT PARK WEST by Amy Sohn
Cheating parents. Klepto Oscar winners. Sexually confused mothers. Real estate obsessives. Just another day in the life in Prospect Park. White people’s problems? You betcha. And if you’re really into it, there’s even a sequel: Motherland….

Meanwhile, over in Tribeca….

TRIBURBIA by Karl Greenfield.
Mommy fiction. For dads. These are hipster Daddies, sorting out their shit. Rich people’s problems? Absolutely. So?

I’ve just returned from a week at Canyon Ranch Spa in Tuscon, Arizona with my mom and step-sister. I was looking forward to it – mostly because I’d be away. And it would be warm. But Other People? They were delirious on my behalf, extolling the joys and wonders of the place with almost cult-like adoration. My mother made the plan a year ago. My step sister had been counting down the days. Envious friends gave me pointers – the best classes, the best treatments, the Mongolian Salmon. Me? I viewed it with a sense of trepidation. I’d been there 25 years ago and, aside from hanging with my pal Jayne and doing meditative breathing with Yoko Ono, the highlights were few and far between.

Camp Canyon Ranch

I remembered a kibbutz-like place with cheesy Southwestern furnishings and dark carpets. A dining room with faux-alcoholic drinks and fitness cheese. Portion control and aerobics. Handwriting analysis and cooking demos. Feeling the burn inside and out.

Those were the late 80′s. Those days are done.

After being there for a week and being home for all of 3 days, I can safely say: I’ve been Ranched.

Canyon Ranch in 2013 is no mere fat farm. In fact, I think I gained weight (OK, I know I did but I’m pretending it’s muscle!). While it still retains it’s kibbutz-meets-summer camp vibe, the rooms have been updated and the decor is charming. As if it even matters – you’re never inside.

View from the pool.

Portion control has been replaced with All You Can Eat: salad and pasta bars, breakfast buffet and omelet station. And if the calorie count and nutrition data on the menus doesn’t stop you, sharing meal after meal cruise-style (lamb chops for the table!) most certainly will.

Aerobics? Bah! No feeling the burn in these classes. You’re feeling the music: DJ Dance Party (with live DJ), World Beat (live drummers), Long & Lean Barre Class (live leg shakes). Zumba (live hot instructors). Spin and stretch. Cardio Combat. TRX ‘n Flex. Yoga. Pilates. Straight up cardio machines and weight rooms. There’s something for every body. Morning walks, hikes and bike rides.

Kinda proud. Kinda scared.

A long way up….A long way down…

And then there are the treatments. I was scrubbed, rubbed and…um…tugged. Salt exfoliation. Deep tissue manipulation. Lazy Yoga Thai Massage. I was whacked with herbal poultices, Loofah’d with dried Ayurvedic herbs and Infused with oxygen. I even had 20 minutes worth of hot oil dripped on to my hair and scalp.

Hot tubs. Cold pools. Eucalyptus inhalation. Alpine steam. Sauna. Swimming. Even shopping! With a high end boutique and a Ranch General Store, our nights were busy with browsing. And Bingo.

The week we were there the average age hovered around 67. So, naturally I felt very young, fit and spry. No celebs (that we knew of), nothing too fancy. Early to bed. Early to rise. Good, clean living. Topped off with a cookie-of-the-day. Every day.

As the week went on, our extended group planned for next year. I humoured them, knowing more exotic, exciting and far flung locales awaited me. Or at least Miami.

And then I came home. And now? Listening to the raindrops and the hum of my heating I’m surfing their site and planning my next visit.

Yup, I’ve been Ranched.

Giving our Canadian “spring” The Finger.

Everyone has their air travel horror stories. And I get it: shit happens. But what happens when a family of 5 with three young kids can’t book seats together? They get bumped, that’s what.

This isn’t the “bump” of yesteryear, where volunteers are called upon and rewarded with free flights, hotels, food. This is a completely arbitrary bump. A bump that began at check-in and didn’t stop: for nearly 7 hours.

When we arrived at YYZ for our flight to Puerto Vallarta, my Man and I and our 3 boys (ages 4, 7, and 9) were a little tense. We’d reserved seats together but when I went to check-in online, I saw that we’d been scattered across the plane. Instead of printing the boarding passes then and there, I figured we’d deal with it at the airport. Big mistake.

At the desk, the agent told us he’d found us seats together in the back. But before he could print the boarding passes, he informed us that there was a weight restriction on the plane. Meaning:
a) headwinds were heavy so extra fuel was needed and, therefore, something had to give
b) there was cargo that had priority.
c) They needed a way to re-route travelers stranded by “Nemo”

(We would go on to get different answers at each stop.)

Regardless, we were reassured the gate would take care of us, seat us together and send us on our merry way. After all, and yeah, I quote: “no one wants to sit beside kids”.

Then he stuck STANDBY tags on our bags. I knew we were doomed. But rather than admit it, and let us try to sort something out, he urged us to “stay positive” and deal with it at the desk.

Bumped to the gate. Which was already packed with irate passengers, but no one from Air Canada. I grabbed a spot in the line. 30 minutes after the gate was due to open, an agent arrived. One by one passengers were told they were on stand-by and to take a seat in the lounge until they were paged. When it was my turn, I asked if there was any chance our family would get on that plane. The response was, at least, an honest one: not likely. I was bumped to Customer Service.

While my Man chased, corralled, fed and entertained our three sons, even the other bumpees felt our pain. No one wants to sit beside kids on the plane, sometimes not even their own parents! But when they’re stuck with them in the terminal, they’re all friendly babysitters.

Post-bump calm before the re-book storm.

I was one of the lucky ones. After 45 minutes in line at Customer Service, I reached the agent. It started off swell. She informed me she’d get us to PVR via Chicago. We’d be on a flight to O’Hare first thing the next day, with 45 minutes to catch the connector. “Ummm…don’t they close the gate 30 minutes before departure?” I asked.

Oops.

The agent then spent another 20 minutes trying to find us a different flight to Chicago. She refused to put us up in a local Chicago hotel – until I overheard the agent at the next counter offer to put up another Mexico-bound couple up in Houston. She relented and offered us a night in Chi-Town. Fun! Adventure! Right? Wrong. In the time it took the other agents to re-book passengers via Houston (and Dallas and San Francisco) ours still couldn’t confirm us. And when, another 25 minutes later, she suggested that we leave the area and head to United Airlines’ ticket counter to confirm the flight, I lost it. A manager arrived and I burst into tears. I’d been waiting by that counter for well over an hour by this point. My kids were running riot. Everyone else was being re-booked and we were stuck.

After all, it was hard enough to rebook a pair of tickets, let alone a party of 5!

Then my Man arrived. Bad Cop to my Good. Complete gender stereotypes. While I played nice and eventually broke down and cried, he barged up to the counter guns a-blazing. He’s a very tall fellow. With an exceptionally loud voice. And he lost in. Completely. And when he started in on our agent, her colleague advised her to ignore him and threatened to call security. At this point, our agent begged off, saying she needed to leave. To catch a flight perhaps?? I’m sure she was just as exhausted as we were – only she was being paid and part of the customer service department while we were the paying customers not getting any service.

And then something clicked. Two managers took over. And, after much more ado and another hour of furious typing and kids now wrestling at my feet, we were blessed with a direct flight the next day. From YYZ. They gave us $100 in food vouchers – and then took back half of them. When they heard about the +5-hour backlog at park ‘n fly, they sweetened the pot with return car service from the airport and back again. I had to remind them that every other passenger had been offered compensation to the tune of $200 off future travel with Air Canada. After checking with someone else (another 15 minutes) they sent us off with promises that our 5 travel vouchers would be emailed to me ASAP. So far, I’ve only received 4.

What airline bumps a party of 5?? In a hellish prime-time travel situation? Deuces and triples were being rerouted within minutes. And singles had no issue whatsoever! But our motley group of 3 under-9′s plus parents? Turfed.

And now, instead of tacos and tequila on the beach, we’re at home with an empty fridge. We’re battle-weary, but trying to stay positive – all the while on hold with Air Canada to find our missing voucher and inquire about compensation for our lost hotel night.

After 2 hours and 57 minutes of being on-hold (speakerphone), they answered! I was to write an email asking for the missing voucher and any further reimbursement. There was nothing they could do.

Bumped again.

It’s been a long day.

For the past few months, in lieu of taxis, my Man and I have been grabbing UBER cars whenever we hit the town. UBER is a San Fran-based service that has spread its wheels to Toronto and beyond. And it’s fabulous.

Basically, you download the app, or register with their website. Then, anytime you need a ride you click and they send. You choose whether you want a Black Car (aka Town Car), a 3-row SUV, or a plain ol’ taxi. You’ll get a confirmation text within seconds, followed by a call from the driver giving you the ETA. While they use GPS to find you, you can stalk/track your car so you know exactly how much time you have before it shows up.

Cleaner, more efficient and downright sexier than your regular street-side stinky cab, once you go UBER, it’s hard to go back. They’re a bit pricier (about 25% with tip included) but well worth it to arrive in style (and not smell like diesel. Or someone else’s supper). Best of all, you can “hail” an UBER car from anywhere – restaurant, bar, house or street corner. And you can send your babysitter home in it to if you need to. The GPS ensures everyone gets home safe and sound. It’s your very own, on-call chauffeur!

To sweeten the deal, MOAM readers get a special treat! First time users who register at www.uber.com by the end of Feb will enjoy $20 off their first Black Car ride (valid Feb and March). Go online or download the app and enter promo code: MOAMTORONTO

Your chariot awaits!

I am a huge fan of Haymishe Bakery. And I am devastated by this:

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Last Sunday morning saw Bracha’s bakery going up in smoke. The flatbreads. The dips. The flatbreads. The salads. The gluten-free goodness.

Did I mention the flatbreads?? I’ve been known to travel with them. And for them. To bring them as gifts. To subsist on them during times of trouble, emotional eating, and pregnancy.

Try as I might to come up with an appropriate send off, I think there is only one way to possibly honour such a beloved institution. In song. And in tune. Tempted as I am to make my MOAM singing debut, I simply don’t have the balls. Send enough “likes” my way, however, and I’ll do it. How’s that for interactive fun for all?

In the meantime, sing among yourselves (to the tune of “American Pie”):

HAYMISHE BAKERY

Not so long ago
I can still remember how those prices used to make me cry….
And I knew if I had my chance
I’d turn a trick, or do a dance
And maybe get a discount, worth a try….

But the last weekend in January made me shiver
No more challahs, or chopped liver.
Bad news on our doorstep,
There wouldn’t be one more shlep.

I can’t remember if I cried when I
Read about those cakes and pies.
Something touched me deep inside
The day, the flatbreads died….

CHORUS
So bye bye, Haymishe Bakery – why??
Drove up Bathurst to quench my thirst
For that gluten-free rye.
Free breads, veggie spreads, and homemade treats all straight to my thighs
Their poppy flatbreads were the best- just to die.
What-a-bagel’s aren’t the same I can’t lie…

Did you try the shnitzel too?
Or that spicy tofu eggplant stew.
Different soups there everyday…
San Fran Morning Glory bread
Or quinoa salad that sits like lead
Garlic spreads were there to stay…

Well I know Bracha screamed and yelled but she
Had a knack for the good hard sell
Her ladies didn’t mind
Keeping all the good stuff behind

If you’re a hungry child with a yen for spelt
Or need millet buns for tuna melt
No more need to loosen up your belt
The day the flatbreads died…

CHORUS

More than 10 years in that parking lot
If you’re not careful you might get caught
Scratching up your car it happens fast.
Get in and out, don’t score a deal
Grab something extra for your meal
Their sufganiyot, well they don’t last

And tho’ it seems like Bracha’s down
No one could take away her crown
The queen of yeast-free bread
Or take a sliced bubka instead…

And while other bakeries come and go
Some even supplied by Haymishe y’know
I’d brave rain, sleet, hail or snow
But now, the flatbreads died…

CHORUS

I’m just a girl, who’s singin’ the blues
No more flatbreads ain’t good news
I can’t smile, when I drive that way…
I went past the sacred store
Where I bought my baked just the day before
But the sign there said the shop had gone away.

On Bathurst street, brakes screeched and screamed
The eaters cried and the bingers dreamed
Nothing left, not even a token.
No more bread to be broken.

The 3 things that I enjoyed the most
Pletzels, shnitzles, dips on toast.
Now it’s just Nortown for a roast
The day the flatbreads died….

Earlier this fall, a friend approached me about joining her in a group cleanse with Dr. Jodi Larry. Yes, another cleanse. The difference with this one was, unlike Isagenix or the various juice cleanses out there, it was an eating cleanse. My initial response was absolutely not! I didn’t like groups. I didn’t want to “share” or, rather, I didn’t want to listen to other people sharing. I didn’t want to pay when I could do it on my own. And most of all, I didn’t want to cut out my coffee.

She confessed she’d been hesitant as well but after hearing another mutual friend singing the praises of Dr. Jodi’s “Cleanse for Life”, she had to try it. We’d both read all the Facebook updates from past participants and the FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) was killing her. I had to admit my curiosity, too, was piqued.

Still, I declined. For about 2 days. Then I read some testimonials and signed right up. I was ready to start immediately. I’d been cranky and anxious and suffering with back pain for months. Could this be the cure-all I was looking for?? And – icing on the cake – would I drop a few lbs?

I had to wait until we assembled a group. People joined. They dropped out. We all friended each other, as well as Dr. Jodi, on FB. We discussed what was allowed and what wasn’t. Some us (me) binged on spareribs and diet coke. Some of us (me) switched to decaf. And then, it was time.

What follows is my day-to-day account, written during the 11 days of Cleanse for Life…..

Pre-Cleanse:

We met with Dr. Jodi. Down to earth, smart and relatable, she made me feel like I could conquer this cleanse with ease. She did, however, warn me that my seemingly innocuous penchant for chemical sweeteners would not be easy to get over. I was a diet-pop-a-day girl. I also had a coffee (with splenda) every morning, plus the other “half” (with another splenda) mid-morning. Most afternoons you’d find me with a cup of tea (with splenda). I guess I was more addicted than I’d thought.

We were given workbooks, and a checklist of “symptoms” to think about privately. Dr Jodi explained liver functionality, reasons to cut out certain foods and integrate others, and what we could expect over the next 11 days.

And then we went shopping.

Armed with cacao nibs, chia seeds, steel cut oats and organic foods we were off to cook and prep. And fret.

Day 1 (Monday): I awake to the daily email from Dr. Jodi. This cleanse is gonna be a piece of gluten-free, sugar-free cake. I’m excited. It seems to be all food, all the time. But no gum. Which is kinda freaking me out. I feel like I might be walking around in a garlic fog….Otherwise, the next ten days are gonna be a cinch, once I get my head around the concept of “good” fat. Coconut anything, nuts, avocado. I’ve been brainwashed and to me, fat is still fat. Luckily for me, salt is still salt. Sea salt is allowed and I’ve been grinding up a storm.

DAY 2 (Tuesday): Aaaaand, I spoke too soon. I wake up pissed. Mad at the group, the good Dr Jodi, the world. I’m jonesing for something. I need my stuff. Holy shit – is this my food rehab? I remind myself that Jodi warned us: those of us who may – or may not -be splenda addicts have it the worst. It’s a toxin parade here in Carolyn’s Body. The Dr. is out. Diet Dr. Pepper, that is. This chemical withdrawal is hell. I’m talking to you too, Splenda. Shaky, dizzy, hot ‘n cold, nauseous. Dr. Jodi emails me, reassures me that this too shall pass. All the tea and water in the world isn’t helping. Tho a double whammy of steel cut oats and a couple of tylenol sure did.

DAY 3 (Wednesday): Queasy. If I didn’t have my period I’d swear I was pregnant! Moving slowly, carefully. Dr Jodi checks in on me, tells me to remember this time as it will ensure I don’t return to the evil that is chemical sweetness. As the day goes on I start to feel a bit better. I drink a coconut water and find it almost unbearably sweet – almost. Still chugged back the entire can. By 4PM I’m feeling way better. Very calm. Maybe too calm? I like to be a little perkier.

DAY 4 (Thursday): Good morning sunshine! I feel great! Lemon water and cayenne have left me a little uneasy, but mostly because I didn’t follow up with breakfast. Went to my monthly Weight Watchers weigh in (old habits die hard) and it was all could do to not sweep aside all their products, decrying them as poison. Turns out I’ve lost 2 pounds already!! I stay for the meeting and listening to everyone talking about diet pop and splenda freaks me out. That evening we meet up as a group with Dr Jodi. We go around the room and discuss what’s happening to our bodies, ourselves. The learning curve is steep, but I get it. And I love it.

DAY 5 (Friday): Constipation. That’s my theme of today. Feeling better overall, but a bit…um…plugged. Also that feeling of calm? Gone with the wind (and speaking of wind…too many lentils perhaps??) I can’t seem to stay warm. Winter weather? Or something more? I take a bath with epsom salts and feel pukey afterwards. Could this be more toxin release? Now? Apparently not. I make chicken for dinner and my appetite returns with a vengeance. I eat with gusto – as always. And then I pass out at 9. When was the last time that happened??

DAY 6 (Saturday): I wake up after an 11-hour sleep. Wow. I skip my newly beloved steel cut oats with bananas, berries and almond milk. 2 minutes in the micro with a splash of maple syrup and some chia seeds. Divine. And instead I opt for buckwheat cereal this morning. Not for me….Grey and sludgey. What is for me, however, is the sauteed spinach with eggs I make for lunch. I kind of overcook the eggs but they’re still delicious. Saturday night I’m flying solo and I’m prowling the kitchen. I think of Dr Jodi reminding us that this is one weekend out of the entire year. And then I make quinoa cookies. And yeah, those two words don’t match on screen, on paper, or in my oven. Swing and a miss.

Day 7 (Sunday): It’s not looking good: 3 little boys. An out-of-town husband. And a lot of rain. Gross. The fact that I don’t eat my way through it is a miracle. This could be the longest day of my life. Let’s leave it at that.

Day 8, 9, 10 (Mon, Tues, Wed): As we head into the final stage of the cleanse, I start getting tense. I feel great, energized and happy. You know the kick you look for in a cup of coffee? I found it au naturel! But I’m panicking. What if it disappears? How can I maintain? I know there’s a post-cleanse equation (80% good, 20% free) but what does that actually mean? I do my own little equation: if we eat 21 meals a week, does that mean I can open the fatty floodgates for 4 of them? That’s 20%, right? Or is it a little bit of parmesan here, a little drop of ketchup there? I haven’t been hungry at all during this cleanse, but I am missing my accoutrements – the sprinkle of cheese, the soy sauce glaze, the tomato sauce. I need some zest – but how much is too much?

And dairy? I know we’re the only animals that drink another animal’s milk – but we’re also the only animals that are able to drive cars and that don’t eat our young! Plus we’ve all seen the too-cute pics of the rejected little zoo babies suckling on dogs and pigs: they’re drinking someone else’s milk and I bet they’d love to cruise around in a set of shiny wheels rather than trot.

As you can see, living in the moment is wreaking havoc on my imagination.

Day 11 (Thursday). It’s the last day of the cleanse. I’ve finally managed to reconcile the good fat in an avocado or a handful of almonds and I’m feeling fab with a spring in my step. We meet with Dr Jodi for the last time (or so she thinks!!). We pull out our checklists from Day 1. For me, every single “symptom” I checked off that first day has shifted. No joke.

I’m well aware that it’s only been 11 days. Out of 44 years. Everything may change back, of course. But for now I feel, cheesy as it may sound, free. Free from the morning pre-coffee fog, the late afternoon haze, the kids’ bedtime storm – and any other meteorological metaphor you can think of. I’m awake. Wide awake all day long and well into the night. I feel lighter. Healthier. Happier. Nervous about how I’ll be able to sit through a movie without a medium popcorn and diet coke, but trying to live in the moment and enjoy.

At least until spring comes and I cleanse again!!

Every once in a while, I stumble across a random thingamajig. A gadget. A tool of some kind. Usually for my kitchen. And, more often than not, I’ll use it once – collapsible salad spinner, anyone? – and then store it.

Yesterday, however, I found something so awesome, so seemingly simple, so potentially genius (but potentially useless)… I had to buy ‘n try.

I’ve been heavily into pomegranates this fall. In salads, as a snack and especially in the morning. With pears, homemade granola and Greek yoghurt. Divine. And yeah, I’ve been buying them seeded. What kind of Philistine do you take me for? So I’ve been spending a bloody fortune rather than labour over seeds – and stains. These buggers end up everywhere. But not anymore…

Sometimes, written words simply aren’t enough. y’know?Certain things need to be seen to be believed. So….. check it out, my first VLOG!!!! Welcome to the future: The Mother Of All Mavens channel!!!

Welcome to the future: The Mother Of All Mavens channel!!!

My nearly nine year old son asked me to join him in private conversation the other day. He needed to speak to me about life, friends, his homework and…the tooth fairy. Yes, he still believed. Despite many queries and doubts, my children were staunch believers in the magic of the tooth fairy. My Man and I swore blindly (fingers crossed) that of course we weren’t the tooth fairy. How could that be? And while other kids in other houses may get cash, books, prizes and even jewelry (I know, crazy, right?), chez nous the tooth fairy always left a toonie. And always left a note.

It was the note that sealed the deal. Written in spidery ink, in a tiny envelope, it was the proof that the TF was the real deal. No parent could possibly print like that, my boy reasoned, not even his own. And so it went. Until last night.

My son told me the other kids in his grade 4 class were non-believers. He turned to me, desperate for guidance. He admitted that he wasn’t 100% sure of the TF’s validity, and yet, those notes! He challenged me: why was I smiling? I countered: why was he? And then, another tack: why was I trying NOT to smile? Again, right back atcha, son. He resorted to threats: the next time he lost a tooth, he’d be keeping the news to himself. He’d place the tooth under his pillow and wait. If the tooth fairy showed up – without his having told us the toothless news – then she was real. And if not? He’d know, for sure, the jig was up. He looked pretty proud of himself. Finally, he confessed: he really, really wanted her to be real, even though a part of him had a feeling she was not. “Please” he begged, “just tell me: Are you the tooth fairy?”

I took a deep breath and stared at him in all his beautiful innocence. Of course, this was the moment for me to come clean and fess up. I looked him squarely in the eye and replied: “No. I’m not the tooth fairy” and scurried out of his room.

When I recounted to my Man he was shocked: our son still bought in? How could I not tell him? Ditto our dear friend. He was nearly 9. He swore like a trooper, went to sleepover camp, taught her son dirty songs and still believed in the tooth fairy? Crazy! I had to tell him. The more I thought about it, the more I realized they were probably right. I didn’t want some nasty-ass kid making fun of him for his belief. I’d already had The Sex Talk with him so he’d hear the real version instead of some twisted one. The tooth fairy expose had nothing on where babies come from.

And so I told him. I admitted that yes, I was the tooth fairy. And the look on his face nearly felled me on the spot. Instead of a jubilant “a-ha!” or a triumphant fist pump, his entire demeanor changed. He slumped, utterly defeated, muttering something about having had a feeling but… And at that moment, once it was out there, I wished I’d kept shtum. He could’ve enjoyed a few more weeks of believing. At least until a couple more teeth fell out. But at the rate we were going, with nary a wiggler in sight, it may have been months. Instead, I just robbed him. With the unmasking of the tooth fairy came the end of his childhood as he knew it. The end of the innocence. Slaughtered, by his mother the TF imposter.

Luckily we never had to deal with Santa. Instead we’ve got b-lister Eliyahu at Passover. He still buys into that. Phew.

Daydream believer…..

Yesterday my pal – and faux business partner – Vern and I hit the one-year anniversary of TUM – the Toronto Underground Market. It’s not a farmer’s market, not a food expo, it’s more a place where budding chefs/official gourmands/people cooking in their home kitchens all meet to showcase and sell their wares. Some are restauranteurs. Some are food truckers. Some are caterers. And some are phenomenally talented cooks who want to shill their shit and have nowhere else to do so. Toronto by-laws are such that to make and sell food you need to jump through a lot of hoops. Which is why certain people who cook and sell homemade goodies out of their homes Do. Not. Exist. Anyhoo, whichever way you…um…slice it, TUM is a festival of food. We ate our way through it and here are our greatest hits…

To begin, we each wolfed down a “Cannele”.

Cannele. Not Canelle. No cinnamon here….

Originally hailing from Bordeaux these little custard treats came in orange and vanilla. I liked. Vern loved. And we were off.

Next stop: Caramels. Vanilla and sea salt. Sadly, the evidence has been ingested and there’s no photographic proof that I ever had any. So maybe I’ll pretend it wasn’t me that sucked back 5 in about 5 minutes. But I will tell you that real deal caramels (again, made the “French” way) don’t stick to your dental work!

Tucked away between an outer wall and storage units was a line up. A couple of guys cooking, a lot of yelling…Who were these people?

Fidel Gastro. Rebel without a kitchen.

Fidel Gastro. Brilliant. Hilarious. Cute. They were the rock stars of the entire event. People were lined up to sample their wares. Including us. We skipped the “Phad Thai fries” (WTF?! Next time!!) and went for the Gorgeous Jorge (peanut butter pulled pork, bacon jam and crackling. Grilled.) Saltiest and tastiest $5 I’ve ever spent. Our version became the “High Maintenance Jorge”. Because they cut in half. A good thing, ‘cuz we may have come to blows over this sandwich. So good we had to go back (and line up) twice. To bring home the bacon for our men.

And speaking of bacon…..That was definitely the theme of the day.

Cayenne-candied bacon. SPECTACULAR!

Leonard Pig Candy were flogging candied cayenne bacon ($5 for 2 pieces!) as well as chocolate-dipped bacon and bacon jam. We tried the milk-chocolate dipped strips. Yuck.

Not everything tastes better with chocolate.

Bacon-jam however, was $8 well-spent. Divine! Not to be confused with President’s Choice “Bacon Marmalade” (which is revolting). I don’t know what I’ll be doing with it, aside from sneaking a spoonful every once in a while. I just know it was incredible.

Ideas for Bacon Jam. I’m not the only one who needs it but doesn’t know why.

The accompanying bacon-mouth necessitated we bypass the line-ups for butter-chicken and waffles, Rock Lobster Company lobby-rolls and the carvery offering up “Canadian-Canadian Food” like roast beef and turkey.

Theeeeeere’s the beef.

Until we saw yet another line-up at “Hot Bunzz”. Korean Short Ribs with egg bun?! Three mushroom with cheese bun?! How could we resist?

Resistance was futile….

These were a bit herb-y but still….great texture! Needless to say, it was time for the sweets. Donuts from Dough by Rachelle (maple bacon, double chocolate, sprinkles). Cinnamon Buns by Little Tomato Catering (PB&J, maple bacon – again with the bacon!) and brownies, brownies and more brownies.

Not as good as kitchen co-op….

The most beautiful sweet things were the baked goods by Sullivan & Bleeker Baking Co. .

Taste as good as they look.

We split a “dirty dozen” mini-cupcakes. Flavours included mint chocolate, cookie dough, red velvet, ‘smores and more. Deeeelish.

Samosas filled with fresh veg and butter chicken. Cairo street food. Philippino BBQ. Thai curry boxes. Indonesian shrimp sticks. Backyard kitchens. Random tacos. On and on and on it went.

And that was just the daytime market! Apparently the night market is even better with booze, tunes, concerts and more vendors. Maybe by next month – turns out TUM is on monthly. So are weight watcher weigh-ins….. But until then….bring on the bacon!