Breaking up is hard to do....

IMG_1535 Dearest Wheat,

I am breaking up with you. It's not you, it's me.

I just feel like we've developed some weird co-dependancy thing and I believe our relationship has become a little unhealthy. Besides, if you'll pardon the pun, I'm not sure what you're bringing to the table? I think I'd prefer to hang out with some vegetables, sorry if that makes you sad.

We've had some good times you and I. One of my happiest memories is when you came to me all toasty and hot buttered after my babies were born. Tea and toast. Perfect for the ravenous hunger of a exhausted mama. It was comforting, like grandma food, after the ravages of labour. Thank you.

...And pasta! Lord, do you remember that trip through Italy when you kindly gave me an extra five kilos! I'd never been so happy we were friends. The sauce was a bonus but the chewy, toothsome You was spectacular! I could eat bowls and bowls of you washed down with a sticky red. (remember wine??)

France. Good God. France. I fell in love with that boy with the eyes like shiny copper coins. What was his name again? Doesn't matter, it's you that I remember. Those crusty, chewy loaves of glory. Wrapped in white paper, you smelt like hay and hot earth. Lord I worshiped you, I think that might be when we started spending too much time together.

Don't worry, I'm not scared of gluten and I'm sure I'll see you from time to time. I just feel like you show up and almost every meal. I miss you too much when you're not here, it's not healthy. I want to make room for other stuff, good grains, I'm a little tired of your neediness. It's just a little hard to digest you.

I've started seeing a little spelt and quinoa and buckwheat. Maybe one day we might be able to hang out occasionally, but for now, I need some space.

I hope you understand.

Michelle xx


Slow food

Slow Food

It's four o'clock and already the children are inquiring about the impending mealtime mystery. "What's to eat?".
In the absence of dinner time smells, my brood start to get ancy. The possibility of starvation is unlikely but it an almost primal unease that settles over the house. What if mum hasn't organised anything? What if she's taken the day off or worse than that.....Takeaway! I think I have the only children alive that complain bitterly at the very mention of the word.
It's true that it's crept up on me. The pantry is quite bare and I'm afraid Mother Hubbard is ill prepared! The vege crisper is an empty box and the fridge has a few spicy sausages and not much else. The girls have donated some fat eggs, the tomatoes are teeming and garlic is always a given. Add some flour and a little work and we will eat.
I'll pour a nice red first, it's ok, we have time. The kids and I will talk homework and gossip whilst I work the dough. Afterwards, we will both need a rest. Have a little cheese if you must and don't mind the clock, it's a little lazy anyway.
I've the good fortune to own a pasta machine. I like the rhythm of it, the hum. I'm disappointed when it's all done and the kids can hear the TV again. A few minutes in a boiling pot and it's ready for the sausage ragu.
The kids are happy and the table is loud and full. There is an absence of "No talking at the table" rules  and more than one child speaks with there mouth full. It's ok, we have time for grown up starched tablecloths later and quiet tiny morsels. We have so much time for this and yet I am aware that these manic mealtimes will not last forever. One day the noise and the spilled drinks will be sadly missed.

Michelle xx